


Not a Breakup

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Series: Not a Breakup [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Avengers Tower, Banter, Barebacking, Communication Issues, Feelings Realization, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstanding, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Switching, Tony POV, Tsundere Tony Stark, sex then feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27100441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: Tony knew it was a bad idea to start sleeping with Steve. It could mess up team dynamics, make things even more awkward between them in the future, or just plain get in the way of their trying to save the world. Tony foresaw all of the above but not the advent offeelings, and at the most inopportune moment.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Not a Breakup [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085165
Comments: 729
Kudos: 1166
Collections: Tony Stark Steve Rogers





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Content warning** : A major element of this fic is Tony and Steve's failure to properly communicate, and a subset of that involves their pushing each other's boundaries. Both of them are very into it at all points, but they are not always clear about communicating what they want or what they understand the other person wants. In the fic's opening itself, Tony is exhausted and could be considered slightly impaired for the sex he initiates. (Thanks to tumblr anon for head's up.) There is more of that kind of thing in later chapters.
> 
> Many thanks to flyingcatstiel for the edits. Remaining mistakes are my own, feel free to let me know in the comments or via [my tumblr](https://no-gorms.tumblr.com/ask).

While the conflicts that Tony’s had with Steve thus far can be said (by Tony) to be heavily weighted on one or either side, he would later concede that in _this_ instance, at least, both of them have an equal share of the blame.

After all, if Tony wanted to seduce someone, he’d just do it. Even if that person was Steve, because heaven knows that Tony’s had just as much experience at being shot down as otherwise. So if Tony wanted it, and had thought about Steve in a sexy way beyond the vague background buzz of appreciation he has for everyone who can pull off a tight pair of jeans, he’d go for it with his eyes wide open. If that was what happened, then yeah, it’s all his fault.

But the reality is, his falling into bed with Steve was not premeditated. Yes, he made the first move, but it was a first move made more for Steve’s gratification than his own, and a first move that he did not at all think would lead to a second, and third, and so on.

So yeah, equal blame, equal fault, equal reaping of its temporary rewards. Though when it came to the longer-term consequences, these were arguably weighted heavier on one side (Tony’s) than the other.

+

The kick-off, as it were, takes place one late night/early morning, which is normally a time of day Tony would never ever be caught in the Avengers gym. Hell, Tony has his personal workout equipment on his floor, and he only ever uses the communal ones when given an Avengers team mandate to do so.

But on this particular night he traipses down, on his own free will, to said gym that he knows is in use, and is in use by one Steve Rogers.

Tony also knows that Steve is likely to be in a foul mood tonight, and not the kind of foul that’s fun to be poked at. Steve doesn’t get this way often, but just often enough that Tony knows that it’s best to steer clear of the good Captain until he’s cleared his head. Naturally, this means that Tony should steer clear of Steve _right now_ , but there are extenuating circumstances.

Namely, that Tony’s headspace is kind of weird right now, too.

When Tony enters the gym, his hands in pockets and trying to look as non-aggressive as possible, Steve’s putting a roundhouse kick to a reinforced punching bag that’s had far better days. Steve hears him enter, and acknowledges him with an irritated sideways glance.

“Saw the light was still on,” Tony says. “Thought I’d come down.”

“You saw the light from outside,” Steve replies, because of course he noticed Tony’s flying back to the tower a couple of minutes ago. “Finished up, then?”

It’s hard to tell if Steve wants a real answer or not. It’s been a long day for both of them, and arguably Tony more than Steve. After the Avengers rounded up the gang that broke into SI’s upstate factories, Tony’s the one who’d had to stay behind to wrap things up. Even with Pepper at the helm, SI is still his, and where Avengers business ends, Stark business continues.

Tony had thought that by the time he got back to the tower, Steve would’ve calmed down. Losing civilians was never and would never be easy, but in this the loss struck a personal note. Tony doesn’t know the details, but he’d gotten half-glimpses of it through Steve’s voice on comms, and his anger afterward – one of the SI workers was the kid of someone Steve knew back in the day.

Normally, Natasha would be the one who’d be here for Steve, since she has some profound connection with the guy that’s built on their tag-team-punching Hydra or whatever. But Natasha wasn’t there for the rescue, and won’t be back from her joint mission with SHIELD until a couple of days from now, and the prospect of Steve being keyed up that long makes Tony nervous.

But it’s not just that. Tony’s keyed up, too. He’d only flown home at Pepper’s orders, and is in that evanescent spot midway between being both too tired and too wired. Then as he’d flown up to the tower and saw that the light was on – the gym, three floors below his personal rooms, he thought: _how dare Steve also still be awake_.

“Not really, no,” Tony admits. “Got booted from the site.”

“Your name’s still on the building.” Steve switches to punches, and barely needs to catch his breath between talking. “That’s gotta still have some clout.”

“More a mascot than a boss these days.” Tony watches Steve for a beat. “Does that actually help?”

“You want to put on some pads?”

“Please,” Tony scoffs. “No, thank you. But I mean, like, you’re just gonna bust your knuckles and—”

Steve pauses, both hands to hold the punching bag still, and turns to look at Tony directly. “Why are you here, Tony?”

“I already said: the light was on.”

“You are aware that that’s not a proper answer.”

“You expect proper answers from me now? When I’ve been awake for…” Tony glances at his watch. “Wow, I can’t even read that properly. Wait, let me focus—”

“Because despite what it looks like, I’m not actually in the mood for a fight.” Steve turns back to the punching bag, but not before Tony catches the way exhaustion drops across Steve’s face like a curtain.

That’s bad, obviously, because Steve Rogers hitting a limit is always cause for alarm. But it’s also nice, because Steve Rogers being a human being always, _always_ , gives Tony a thrill that rattles through the decades of Captain America baggage accumulated around his psyche like really annoying super-serum barnacles.

Steve was really angry today. He got so angry that he’d gone and dangerous, bypassing yelling at people entirely, and totally missed two opportunities to call Tony out for his usual. Maybe if he focuses on Steve, then Tony can stop thinking about himself, and the holes he’d left in SI’s defenses for saboteurs, and how Pepper could’ve been right in the line of fire if the Avengers hadn’t been able to act quickly.

“You can do better than destroying gym equipment,” Tony says.

“You mean I should try to micromanage everything on the ground and fix every single risk point myself?”

Tony’s so exhausted that his hackles don’t even go up. “Or that.”

Steve makes a huffing sound – a laugh, maybe. “And how’s that working out for you?”

“I’m making really questionable decisions like being annoyed that someone else is still awake at this time of night, which has kind of derailed Pepper’s instructions that I hit the hay like, stat.”

“So… because I haven’t gone to sleep, you can’t go to sleep either?”

“Exactly. Are you like, running on fumes or do you actually have energy you need to burn off? Because if it’s the former I’d just tell you to rub one out, but if it’s the second then that’s actually kinda terrifying, because I saw you kick a forklift today.”

“Forklift had it coming,” Steve replies, because they’re not going to talk about the SI staff that had been running for their lives at the time. “If you’re going to be a nuisance, then come spot me.”

“No, I actually _am_ running on fumes.” Tony looks down. “I don’t think I can feel my ankles.”

Steve sighs, exasperated. “Then go rub one out.”

Tony starts. “Excuse _me_.”

“You said it first.” Steve points an accusing finger at him. “Don’t turn it back on me.”

“Did I? Right. I don’t know, it’s just weird hearing that come out of your mouth.”

Steve, who has seemingly given up trying to regain his punching rhythm, levels Tony with a look. “Masturbate. Jerk off.”

“Stop that, you’re making all those words significantly less sexy.” Tony thinks. “Say blowjob.”

“Why, you gonna give me one if I do?”

“Do you want one? I mean, you clearly need it.”

“Are you projecting? Because either you’re trying to annoy me into giving up the gym out of some bizarre need for external permission to get some rest, or you’re just… what’s the word? Cruising?”

“Oh my god,” Tony chokes. “Where are you learning all these words?”

“From Thor, obviously. He brings me magazines and we read them together while we put highlights in our hair.”

Tony doesn’t want to laugh. It feels like he’d be conceding defeat on whatever’s going on here if he does, because to laugh would to acknowledge that Steve’s capable of being just as annoying as Tony is when he’s trying to deflect from what’s _really_ going on with him. So Tony doesn’t laugh. Sadly, Steve sees the effort in Tony’s eyes of doing so, and the corners of Steve’s mouth subtly tug upward.

“Not cruising, but—” Tony’s mouth seems to keep going without him, “—I totally would. Give you one.”

“Tony,” Steve says, with patience has long since worn thin, “go to sleep.”

“I would. C’mon, Steve, you’re not _that_ rank. What, is it ‘cause you think you can’t fit in my mouth?”

Steve, whose scowl has been deepening even as he gets getting progressively pinker, snaps. He straightens up, drops his hands to his sides, and sets his gaze unflinchingly at Tony. “You gonna give me one right now?”

“I could,” Tony insists.

“Right now?” Steve opens his hands out. “Okay, come on.”

Tony frowns. “Now you’re just making it weird.”

“I’m making it weird? Tony, you’ve been making it weird for me since the day I met you.”

“So you should just be used to it by now, right?”

“You’d think.” Steve turns away again, though this time moves towards the bench, where his water bottle is waiting for him.

As for Tony, the disconnect from brain to mouth has apparently led to a similar disconnect between brain and eyes, which have dropped to strong lines of Steve’s upper thighs, allowing Tony to contemplate the neat tuck of Steve’s dick to the left. Tony realizes that, yeah, he actually would like to have that in his mouth, and the fact that Steve hasn’t shot him down outright means that he’s not actively disgusted by the idea.

Tony finds himself approaching the bench. “You can sit down. Makes it easier for my knees.”

Steve starts to turn a fearsome side-eye at Tony, only to double-take when he sees whatever it is that’s on Tony’s face.

It's been a long day. Steve’s cranky and needs unwinding, which usually isn’t Tony’s problem except when it sometimes is. Meanwhile, Tony’s feeling restless from having not been as productive as he could’ve been today, and it’s kinda exciting to have something as simple as this as a goal.

Tony puts a hand on Steve’s bicep. The muscle there tense up, but Steve doesn’t jump, nor pull away.

Emboldened, Tony pushes. Steve’s ass drops onto the bench with a loud thump, and Tony drops even faster between Steve’s parted knees. Tony gets his hands on Steve’s calves to push them further apart, making a comfortable space for him to get to work. While Tony fumbles for the string of Steve’s sweatpants, Tony works his jaw to get warmed up.

Steve has a slightly befuddled expression like he’s not sure how he got here. Which is fine, really, because (as Rhodey has told Tony many times over the years) not everyone has lives that randomly detour into porn logic the way that Tony’s does.

Money is the great enabler, of course. But Tony’s also spent years cultivating an overall confident style to go with the financial backing, and after a certain point he barely needed actual dialogue to complete the package. Cheesy lines in fact served to filter out the more discerning partners, leaving him with the easier and eager. Save for the failed episode with Pepper, Tony hasn’t had to make an effort in ages.

Steve isn’t an easy person, of course. But sharing something like this, oddly enough, does feel easy. Steve’s a soldier, so he knows how it goes. Hell, their whole relationship post-Chitauri has been a mutually-agreed attempt to step back from those awful first impressions and not take each other too seriously.

“Bow-chicka-wow-wow,” Tony hums.

“Okay then,” Steve says, trying to shift away, “if that’s how you’re—”

“Hey hey hey, I know what I’m doing!” To prove his point Tony plants his face right into Steve’s crotch, cheek landing against the long shape of his cock. It twitches against Tony’s face, while up above him Steve makes a hiccup-like sound of surprise.

This seems to get Steve with the program. Steve pushes his sweatpants down far enough to let his dick out for some air and, yep, that is indeed a nice dick – it’s not fully hard yet, but it’s substantial and generous, and has a shapely head. And _of course_ Steve has a nice dick, because it’d have to match the rest of the ridiculous package that is Steve’s general person. Tony isn’t annoyed by this, though, because he gets to now guide said dick into his mouth, and provide some gentle suction in encouraging it to fullness.

It takes Tony a second to adjust to the pressure in his mouth and against his jaw. It’s not an unwelcome pressure, just foreign after so long and – how long has it been? Forever, it feels like. He’d even almost forgotten how to move along the shaft without spilling drool everywhere, and how to use his tongue to tickle the underside as he goes.

Steve gasps, the sound shockingly loud in the otherwise empty gym, and it snaps Tony back to the task at hand.

 _Right_. Steve’s dick. Steve’s full-blown erection, now, which fits nice and plush between Tony’s lips. The cords of muscle in Steve’s thighs strain taut by Tony’s cheeks, and Steve’s hands are planted behind himself on the bench, keeping his body still so Tony can go to town.

This should probably be more surreal, but in a life that now includes gods and aliens and superheroes (and he being one of them), a little cock-sucking between friends doesn’t stand out as much. He’ll probably feel weird about it tomorrow, but that’s a problem for tomorrow’s Tony, and boy oh boy is Tony an expert at letting tomorrow’s Tony deal with things.

Tony sucks like he’s on a deadline. Steve’s breaths grow heavy and uneven, and he starts to rock a little – not actually fucking Tony’s mouth, mind, but rolling with the swallow-and-release like it’s a particularly good ride.

“Tony, I’m—” Steve gasps.

Tony wraps a hand around the base of Steve’s shaft, pumping quick and shallow. Steve’s harsh grunt provides a second, though equally unnecessary, warning. Tony swallows all of it and then, just for good measure, pulls off and cleans the rest of Steve’s cock with his tongue.

Steve sighs.

A pleasant buzz settles over Tony, and once Steve’s cleaned up, he sits back on his heels to contemplate the state of his being. Mouth: used, brain: quiet.

“All right then.” Tony stands up and brushes himself off. “Glad you were game, Steve, that was very—”

Steve’s frowning again. “Where are you going?”

“You said I should get some sleep, so I’m gonna—”

“Don’t be silly, come here. Tony.”

When Tony just blinks at him, Steve stands up and takes a firm grip of Tony’s wrist, tugging him back so they’re both sitting on the bench. Tony has no idea what’s going on until Steve’s palm slides up Tony’s inner thigh, and he bleats, “Oh hello!”

“Come on,” Steve says.

“Really, you don’t have to—”

“You’re hard.” Steve presses a palm against Tony’s dick to make his point.

“Well, obviously.” Tony huffs, though his hips jerk forward, allowing him to rub himself against Steve’s hand. “Got a dick in my mouth, so other parts think it’s time to party, too—”

“Can you please just open your pants,” Steve says impatiently.

“Are you serious? Look at your hands.”

Steve glares at him, and unwraps the bandages around his hands without looking. It’s sexy enough that Tony feels his cock swell hopefully, so perhaps he should be nice and not disappoint it?

Steve lifts his hands, now bare, and shows them to Tony. They’re sweaty, but so is the rest of him, and there’s no broken skin on his fingers that would be a buzzkill. “This okay for you?” Steve says dryly.

“Yeah, that’s fine—”

Tony barely has his pants unbuttoned before Steve’s swooping in, his fingers digging into Tony’s underwear to pull out his prize. Tony grabs onto Steve’s shoulders and lets it happen.

If Tony’s ever thought what a handjob from Steve would be like – which he has, but to be fair, he has intrusive thoughts about almost everyone he meets – he’d imagined Steve to be thoughtful of his partner to the point that he’d overthink everything. Tony’s partially correct about the overthinking part, because Steve’s eyes keep flicking up and down, checking Tony’s responses both upstairs and down, but that’s only at the start. For once Steve gets his rhythm, his motions are smooth, steady and confident – his hands now know what to do, so they do it.

Said hands are calloused, but sweat makes the motion easier. Steve’s grip pulses around Tony’s shaft, measured and teasing, while his thumb strokes firm, short lines against the glans. Tony wriggles, restless and wanting more.

“Yeah, that’s good,” Tony says. “That’s good, oh, yes, tighter, tighter yep. Faster.”

Steve speeds up. One hand works Tony’s cock while the other rests splayed at the juncture of Tony’s hip to thigh, thumb flicking at his sac underneath. Arousal winds tighter and tighter until Tony stops talking entirely, and just hitches his hips towards Steve’s hand.

Tony cries out as he comes, his head tossed back. It’s good and messy, and not-too-bad way to end an otherwise shitty day.

Steve strokes him through the last hopeful jerks, and slows down as Tony gets his breath back.

“That’s the ticket,” Tony says breathlessly.

Steve, bless him, uses his gym towel to clean Tony up. Tony lets Steve do it, but does his own part by tucking his softening cock back into his pants. Steve, of course, is fully tucked away, and looking like he’s done nothing more strenuous than destroy a punching bag.

The hard bench underneath him is doing a number on his ass, but Tony doesn’t feel like moving. He spreads his legs out in front of him and stares dazedly at his feet.

“Tony,” Steve says. “Don’t fall asleep. Tony, you hear me?”

“I own the building. I can sleep where I want.” Tony snarls half-heartedly when Steve tries to lift Tony off the bench. “Fine fine fine, I heard you. I’m going.”

Tony doesn’t immediately move, so Steve comes to stand over him, his hands on his hips. Tony peers up, unsurprised by Steve’s patiently stern face, and feels his mouth twitch into a smile. Steve is still Steve, before or after the having of blowjobs, and that’s comforting.

“I’m going.” Tony stands up and stretches. His pants slip a little since their buttons are still undone, so Steve sighs and grabs at the hem, pulling his pants up so Tony can close it properly. “Thanks. You’re going now, too, right?”

“I am.” Steve holds up the towel and water bottle defensively. “I am!”

“All right, don’t be so touchy, geez.”

They leave the gym together, and though Tony does sway a little off-balance once or twice, Steve’s right there to make sure that he doesn’t run into anything.

+

The next day, when Tony finally wakes up late in the afternoon, it’s not to the sudden cold shock of remembering what happened in the gym. In fact, Tony’s sleep-addled brain doesn’t recall the encounter (with Steve’s dick) at all, not while he’s brushing his teeth, or having a shower, or getting dressed.

It’s only once he’s in the dining area nursing his second cup coffee, and Steve walks by, that the memory slowly inches its way to the front of his brain. But even then, Tony second-guesses himself, because a sexy dream about Steve Rogers is exactly the sort of thing his subconscious would randomly throw at him for funsies.

Steve stops by the coffee machine, his hip resting against the counter. He’s tapping away at his phone, but then he pauses and looks up at Tony.

Tony realizes that he’s been squinting at Steve for… quite a while.

“Which part are you having trouble with?” Steve says. “My kicking a forklift at Thor, or you sucking my dick?”

“Oh, it actually happened,” Tony blurts out in a rush. “I wasn’t sure for a second there.”

“Of course not.” Steve shakes his head, amused. “You were almost dead on your feet.”

“Amazed I didn’t fall asleep in the middle of doing it, really. How ‘bout you?”

“How about me, what?”

“You sleep okay?”

Steve hesitates. “Yes, I did, thank you.”

“See!” Tony crows. “I am so smart.”

“You’re so smart you’ve got crumbs all over yourself again.” Steve yanks some paper towels from the dispenser and hands it over. “You know Clint’s just going to make extra noise when it’s his turn to clean.”

“I’m not the one who made the rule about no bots cleaning this floor. If Clint wants to draw certain boundaries, I will respect those boundaries, but also he needs to live with the consequences.”

Footsteps precede Bruce’s entry in the room, and he greets them with, “Who needs to live with what consequences?”

“Clint,” Tony says.

“Oh, yes,” Bruce agrees. “All the consequences, obviously. Did you finish the peanut butter?”

“There’s more in the cabinet,” Steve says.

“Is it the same kind, or is the one that Thor likes?” Bruce says.

“Um.” Steve shrugs, while Bruce makes a sigh of the perpetually inconvenienced.

As Tony watches his teammates go about it like it’s any other day, it trickles into his consciousness that it _is_ just any other day. Dick-touching has changed nothing, and whatever anxieties Tony might’ve had under the cold light of day that Steve would turn the full force of his righteous judgment on him (no matter that Steve enjoyed himself, too) slowly fade back into non-existence.

Which is neat, actually. Yesterday’s Tony made a potentially dodgy call, but today’s Tony doesn’t have to scramble for excuses or explanations, because Steve’s okay with it. Steve’s relaxed and rolling his eyes the way he always does nowadays, and Tony thinks: _huh_.

Steve’s cooler than he thought. To be fair, Tony’s opinion of the guy started at a very low baseline, but it’s been steadily improving since then. It’s spiffy to be able to add a little marker of another way Tony may have underestimated the guy and is glad to be proven wrong about.

“Hey, I’m going back to the factory tomorrow,” Tony says. “You wanna come with?”

Steve looks at him questioningly. “For?”

“Don’t know.” Tony shrugs. “Thought you might want to follow up. With your friend’s… friends? Or, uh, family?”

For a moment it looks as if Steve’s going to mentally check out, but then he frowns, considering it. “I appreciate the thought, but… actually, let me think about it. Tomorrow, you said?”

“Yeah, tomorrow, but you could go yourself today or whatever, just give Pepper a head’s up. But Bruce,” Tony adds, turning to him, “ _you_ should definitely come with me tomorrow. Clean up always finds the great stuff.”

“You know I rarely return to the scene of a crime,” Bruce says.

“It’s not a crime scene if you’re there for superheroing, we’ve talked about this,” Tony says.

In the end Steve doesn’t join Tony and Bruce in visiting the SI factory, but he _does_ track down the friends and family of the person who died, and hopefully gets some closure. At the very least Steve seems back to normal even-keeled spirits afterward, and that’s good.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the years, Tony’s amassed a truly extensive list of hook-ups, some of whom he never knew the real name of, many of whom he no longer remembers at all, and a very rare and unfortunate few who went so far as to try to kill him (for other reasons, though, and not for the sex itself). It’s just how it is, and Steve being added to that list of hook-ups doesn’t feel outstanding in any way beyond the fact that he’s an Avenger.

After all, Tony’s already slept with people he works with, and people who knew his dad, and people who have been scientifically enhanced in some unique way. Hell, if he’d bothered to sleep with Natasha that time when was she undercover at SI, Steve wouldn’t even be his first Avengers hook-up.

Taking into account all of the above, and Steve’s surprising easy-going nature about said hook-up, it’s no surprise that Tony kinda forgets about it.

He doesn’t actively _try_ to forget it, in the sense that he wants to shove the incident away and never think about it again. It simply gets buried under the clutter of everyday Avenging life, with its whiplash of life-or-death and painstaking bureaucratic nonsense. For sure, sometimes he’d be in a team meeting and his brain would randomly offer the piece of trivia: _Steve is cut and dresses to the left,_ but he has plenty other minutiae rattling around in there and this just happens to be one of them.

Tony’s messed around with Steve the one time. It’s neither good nor bad; it’s a neutral, non-notable incident in the scrapbook that is their lives. The only thing Tony really takes away from it is that Steve can be counted on to not be judgy about a major (at least, until recently) aspect of Tony’s personality.

The overall point of this is, when something like two weeks later Steve comes up to Tony’s lab for a talk and ends up putting a hand on Tony’s knee, Tony’s only response is to say stupidly, “What?”

Steve carefully retracts his hand. “Okay. Sorry, I just thought…”

“Wait, no, no, wait.” Tony thinks back quickly. Steve came into the workshop to give feedback on the experimental smoke grenades, which detoured into a discussion on Thor and Clint’s argument earlier today on how to handle civilian bystanders, which detoured into another discussion on project priorities and—

“I just said,” Steve says patiently, “you’ve been rushing the new specs because Maria’s pushing for them, but we can work perfectly fine with the current build, as long as we follow contingencies—”

“And your suggestion is that I take a break by way of…” Tony looks down at his knee, which is still warm from Steve’s heavy palm. “Uh. Orgasms? Did you just make a pass at me?”

“Well, you’ve been at it for – how many hours has it been? And that’s just…” Steve trails off at Tony’s confused face. “Did you forget that we’ve done it before?”

“No, of course not,” Tony says quickly.

“You forgot. I’ve put my hand on your dick before, and you forgot that it happened.” Steve doesn’t seem offended, though. He’s definitely smiling as he shakes his head. “Was it that bad?”

“Definitely _not_ ,” Tony says, trying to sound as truthful as possible, which he is. “I swear.”

“Just forgettable, then.”

“Noooo.” Unfortunately, this word comes out sounding much less convincing. “I was half-awake, if you recall.”

“So you’re only interested when you’re half-awake.”

He now has Tony’s complete attention, which includes a clearheaded awareness of how hot Steve looks in his too-tight cotton shirts and slacks. Sure, Steve’s always been hot, but for most of their acquaintance Tony’s put the Steve-is-hot fact into the pile of things-that-are-annoying-about-Steve and thus has not spent as much time contemplating said fact to its most indulgent end.

“I did not say that.” Tony’s tongue lingers at the corner of his mouth at the end of that last word, and Steve’s gaze drops to it like it’s magnetized.

All right. This is totally not what Tony planned for his evening, but the change of agenda is not unwelcome. Especially when Steve’s being so polite and sensible about it. Did he walk into the workshop and see Tony ruining his posture over the engine specs and think: _yep, that man needs to get some, so he can relax_? Or whatever it is that goes on in Steve’s head, who knows.

“Oh.” Tony inhales sharply, surprised by arousal tingling at the base of his spine. He clenches and unclenches his hands on his thighs. “Ho boy.”

Steve looks at Tony’s crotch. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“It’s the element of surprise, I think.”

“But you hate surprises.”

“I do. An exception, I guess.” Tony clears his throat. “Take off your shirt.”

Steve inclines his head.

“Oh my god,” Tony sputters. “ _Please_ take off your shirt, Steve. C’mon, off.”

It’s one thing to admire the planes of Steve’s body when designing a tactical suit for him. It’s another thing entirely to watch Steve strip with intent – where he uses one hand to pull his shirt up from the hem, peeling it over his carved stomach and pecs in a fluid motion that has his bicep flexing with it. Steve seems to be conscious of what his body’s doing at all times, be it in a casual setting to not break things, or in battle where every movement needs to be precise for its purpose, and here that same knowingness has his eyes glittering as he observes the effect on Tony.

Steve doesn’t usually weaponize his body this way, and it’s as startling as it is effective. The invitation’s wide open, so Tony touches him – paws at him, really.

Both hands land high at Steve’s collarbone, then sweep down the sides of Steve’s pecs, which jump under his touch. Steve inhales sharply through his nose, and Tony can see a protest rising in the twist of Steve’s mouth, i.e. the idea was that Steve would touch _Tony_ , not the other way round.

Best way to stop any protest? Kiss the other person, obviously.

Tony makes a little hop from his stool, and lands on Steve’s lap. Steve’s hands immediately find Tony’s hips, keeping him steady, and Steve’s chin tilts upwards as Tony comes in to press their mouths together.

They hadn’t kissed the last time, right? Not that it was necessary.

Steve’s mouth opens under Tony’s, and it’s a purposeful kiss, deep and slow, but not urgent. Tony parts his lips and has Steve move with him, pushing and turning and pressing hard as he tests what Steve will let him get away with. The answer is: quite a lot, actually. Steve even makes a pleased sound at the back of his throat when Tony nibbles lightly at Steve’s lower lip.

“That’s very nice,” Steve says, his voice low and breathless.

“Oh my god,” Tony breathe-laughs against Steve’s mouth. Tony’s fingers dig and knead their way across Steve’s fabulous arms and fabulous shoulders to the fabulous stretch down his back. “Oh my god, touch me.”

Steve obliges by sliding one hand underneath Tony’s shirt, an intruder uncovering skin as it goes, while the other hand curls at the back of Tony’s neck, bringing him back in for another kiss. It’s messy and wonderful, and Tony really shouldn’t get this fired up this quickly in his fine age, but that’s probably the dry spell at work. Maybe.

They probably can’t get away with sex on a stool. Annoyance flickers through Tony – any brainpower spent on deciding what to do would be better utilized just _doing_ it – but needs must. Steve’s probably too polite to just toss Tony on top the nearest workbench and have his wicked way with him.

“The couch,” Tony says. “Let’s – the couch, yeah?”

“Okay.” Steve nods, his nose brushing against Tony’s with the motion. “Hang on.”

“Wha—” Tony does not yelp when Steve stands up. Tony does not make any sound at all the whole handful of seconds that Steve carries him as though he’s nothing, across the workshop to the couch, where he’s deposited with no more than a slight bounce on the cushions.

“That’s a very good look on you,” Steve says, just before he resumes kissing him.

Thing that Tony has learned today: Steve can be a horny bastard sometimes. That’s not a complaint; just an observation. Tony wonders idly if he’d uncorked this potential in Steve with the blowjob, because despite Steve’s enthusiasm and enhanced ease of movement there’s very slight awkwardness in how he touches and kisses Tony, but that’s not really a thought worth pursuing. Far more important is how Steve pulls Tony’s shirt off – taking care not to snag it on the arc reactor – and crawls on top of him, bringing into play some very welcome skin-on-skin action.

At this angle it’s Tony who has to bear Steve’s kisses, each one searing and makes his jaw ache. Then there’s the fantastic press of Steve’s body on top of him, a blanket of muscle and strength pining him down. Tony makes his approval known by wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist and humping upwards and _boy_ , Steve likes that, too.

They rut against each other. Tony feels the tension coil, drawing closer and closer until he has to drag his mouth away from Steve’s to pant in the open air.

“Steve, just,” Tony hisses when Steve runs his teeth over the line of Tony’s neck, “pants, open, I need—”

Steve seems to understand, because his hands move into the space between their bodies, his super soldier abilities apparently including the skill to open two pairs of pants in two seconds flat without looking down or tearing anything. 

“In your hand, both,” Tony says. “ _God,_ yes, like that.”

Steve’s marvelous sense of coordination comes through. One hand holds the bases of their dicks together, while the other pumps upward, slow at first, then quicker, harder, tighter. He is relentless. Tony’s dick is caught between the sweat-slick grip of Steve’s hand and the silken press of Steve’s shaft. Tony tries to push into Steve’s fingers but there’s no give whatsoever, he has to take what Steve gives him and no more, no less.

“Oh fuck!” Tony comes with a full-body jolt. He buries his face in Steve’s neck and gasps through it. Steve’s hand slows down through the aftershocks, but it keeps moving, sliding through Tony’s come in painting both their dicks. Tony moans at the sensation, and scrabbles weakly at Steve’s back. “Steve. Steve, your turn.”

Steve rises off him a little, but then there’s a new pressure at Tony’s right nipple. He squints down at his chest in confusion to where Steve is sweeping his tongue against the nub, the back-and-forth motion sending unexpected zings to Tony’s well-spent cock.

“Steve,” Tony says hoarsely, “I’m done.”

“I know,” Steve says between wet kisses across Tony’s chest, “this is for me.”

The admission, blunt and earnest, makes Tony shudder so hard that his jaw clacks a little. Tony lets his head fall back to the cushions, and takes Steve’s mouth and hands on his sensitized skin with good cheer. It’s pleasant in its own way, never quite reaching the edge of too much, and the thoughtful little sounds Steve makes are a nice background soundtrack.

Tony does make a note to watch Steve’s face as he comes, though. As soon as he feels Steve shift restlessly on top of him, Tony looks down, ignoring the twinge in his neck, and follows the rest of it to completion.

Steve jacks himself off with Tony’s come still on his knuckles. Steve’s eyes twist shut, and his kiss-swollen mouth falls open a silent gasp. Tony presses a thumb to Steve’s lower lip, pulling it down in a lewd tug, and Steve – _holy shit_ – lets him do it.

When Steve opens his eyes again, they are glassy and beautiful. Tony can almost follow precisely the physical shiver that travels down and then back up Steve’s body, punctuated by the liquid spill that falls onto Tony’s stomach.

Tony strokes a hand across Steve’s neck and shoulder, petting the guy as he comes back to himself. Steve presses back into the touch, so Tony carefully shimmies towards the long edge of the couch to give Steve some space to lie on the couch with him. There isn’t that much space on the couch to begin with, so this effectively means that Steve is mostly sprawled on top of Tony, but Tony doesn’t mind.

“Good break,” Tony says. “Good idea, plus points to you.”

Steve grunts under his breath.

“I’m hungry,” Tony adds.

Steve makes an appreciative sound. He starts to lift himself up, only to change his mind and fall back down. Tony grins at the ceiling.

“Five minutes?” Tony says. “Clean up, then food?”

“Yeah,” Steve mumbles against Tony’s upper arm.

“JARVIS, put on Whiter Shade of Pale. That’s near five-ish minutes, aaaaand go.” The sound of organ playing gently fills the room, and Tony lets the good vibes wash over him as he waits for Steve to get himself back together.

+

Once may be chance and twice a coincidence, but Tony needs to consider that a third time may not be far out of the realm of possibility. He’s not against it, per se – Steve really knows how to use his hands, _damn_ – but there’s everything else they do to consider, and fucking up the Avengers because of some genital-bumping would be really stupid.

Admittedly there’s no threat of fucking up just yet, because both times Steve’s seemed to enjoy the simple relief of it, the same way that Tony does. Plus, no matter how closely Tony watches Steve in the aftermath of their rutting in the workshop – through a late dinner with Thor, and then a team training session the next morning – Steve doesn’t treat him any differently. He’s still bossy, still earnest, still subtly sarcastic, and he has no problem throwing Tony to the mat when Tony leaves himself open.

It would be good to be _sure_ , though. Tony enjoys sex but he knows very well how it can make people think funny, and sex totally seems like something that would make Captain America think funny.

Then again, Tony’s been wrong about Steve before. Hell, maybe Steve’s also sleeping with one or more of the other Avengers, and Tony’s just not noticed.

Later that afternoon, a few of them are in the living area watching TV when Clint and Bruce get up to fetch snacks from the kitchen.

That just leaves three of them: Steve, who’s actually watching the TV; Tony, who’s mostly poking at a bruise on his thigh and thinking about ways to enact his revenge; and Natasha, who watches Clint and Bruce disappear behind the door before turning to the two of them.

“Okay,” Natasha says, a voice that means that Tony should probably pay attention, “I’d just like to point out that I did not design this building and its innumerable glass walls. So if you want to get up to some _private_ time, you should probably lock the elevator from your workshop floor. Just saying.”

Tony pauses his poking to look at Natasha, who’s lifted an eyebrow meaningfully. Tony turns to Steve, who looks gratifyingly surprised, and then back at Natasha. Tony says, “Don’t be jealous. I’m sure that if you ask Steve real nicely, he’d get you off, too.”

Steve responds with an ungainly snort. “I’m sure that she can do better than someone who’s so mediocre that they’re forgotten after the fact,” he says.

“Oh my god,” Tony turns to Steve sharply, “are you still upset about that? You’re not mediocre! I _know_ mediocre, and you’re not.”

“So mediocre,” Steve says, shaking his head sadly.

Tony turns to Natasha. “He’s not mediocre, I swear. Very good with his hands.”

“I did not ask _at all_ ,” Natasha says. “Okay, I officially withdraw the topic. Steve, put the news back on. At least that’d give me less of a headache.”

Tony’s about to tell her that he appreciates the general head’s up, but at that moment Clint and Bruce return to the room. There are no hard rules about what they are or are not allowed to talk about in front of the others, but Tony finds himself biting it back simply because it’s funnier to let Natasha steam all by herself.

He glances back at Steve, who meets his gaze with a small smile of his own.

It’s nice. It’s stupid and petty, but it’s also nice, because Tony is sometimes a stupid and petty man.

The good feeling stays with Tony through the rest of the afternoon. When he gets up to collect another round of coffee from the kitchen, he’s not that surprised when Steve rises to follow him. They stand together by the coffee machine for a few quiet, pleasant minutes, and exchange over mugs and milk as they prepare their respective drinks.

Steve speaks first. “About what Natasha said, I’m surprised JARVIS let that happen. Without warning us, or her, I mean.”

“Who can comprehend the sense of humor of an AI built by moi,” Tony says. “Unless specified not to, and there being no actual danger to anyone in the building, he’s let plenty of things pass. Maybe I’ll get him to lock it down automatically if it happens again.”

“ _Is_ it going to happen again?”

Tony looks Steve straight in the eye. “I don’t know, you tell me.”

Steve doesn’t flinch a muscle. “ _You_ tell _me_.”

It’s like Tony’s getting to see another side of Steve he hadn’t known existed, and this side is actually tangential to the sex. While they’ve butted heads over other, far more important and far less important matters, they happen to be aligned about _this_ , when throwing sex into the mix makes situations more complicated. For normal people, anyway. Maybe they’re less normal about this because Tony is, well, _Tony_ , and Steve is—

What’s going on with Steve? Everyone who knows anything about Captain America knows that he’s a romantic, and that he and Peggy should’ve been the golden couple of an entire generation. But maybe that’s the point. Steve almost had that, but didn’t, and as with everything else he’s had to do to reinvent himself for the twenty-first century. He’s figuring out other ways to just be, and Tony respects that.

“I surprise you,” Steve says, with such astuteness that Tony double-takes. “I like surprising you.”

“Yeah? Well, consider myself well and truly surprised.”

“Good.”

Tony can’t help himself. “Why?”

“Maybe because you keep swerving left when I think you’re gonna swerve right, and it’s a kick to be able to do it to you in return.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Actually, I kind of sabotaged myself right there.” Steve makes a face. “I also wanted to ask about the hospital fundraiser Thursday right. You know, the one—”

“Yeah, you and Bruce. Oh, shit, right, Bruce got that call from Betty.”

“Yep, so with Bruce backing out, it’s gotta be you or Thor, and you’d probably cause less property damage.”

“ _Probably_.”

Steve nods. “I do try to be honest. But please don’t take this the wrong way, my asking has nothing to do with…” He tilts his head, the motion encompassing the fucktacular turn that their working relationship has taken recently.

“I know, I get it,” Tony says with a laugh. “Fine, I’ll check my schedule, but you’re the one who’s gotta tell Maria and PR.”

“Of course,” Steve says easily.

“Ping me the dress code and dinner deets,” Tony says.

“It’s—”

“I’m not going to remember, Steve. Just ping me.”

In the old ancient days of last year when the team first moved into the tower post-Loki clean-up, Tony made a point to always have a third whenever he and Steve had to do anything together. Sure, they’d shook hands and said that bygones were bygones, but talk was cheap and social awkwardness was truth. It’s gotten better since then, as they’d navigated the new terms of what their working relationship would be, so this – sex notwithstanding – seems like a natural progression on an upward trajectory.

Tony can totally go to a fundraiser with Steve.

+

On Thursday, he does indeed go to the fundraiser with Steve, and the dinner goes along well enough. Tony looks pretty and Steve smiles in between picking passive-aggressive arguments (with people who are not Tony) and the only awkward moment to be had is when Tony forgets someone’s name five minutes after being introduced and Steve has to come over and smooth the situation out.

Overall, it’s a typical Avengers-type meet-and-greet, the kind of which has become more normal as the team builds its reputation.

What is perhaps less normal is when Tony and Steve get back to the tower afterward, they park the car in the garage and climb into the backseat, where Tony gets his hands into Steve’s hair and fucks his mouth. But that’s just an incidental bonus.


	3. Chapter 3

This situation is also about trust, really.

Earlier, Tony had to trust that Steve wouldn’t be a judgmental prick. Now that Steve’s enjoying himself so much that he’s open to keep going, Tony has to trust that Steve won’t do something even more questionable than fuck a teammate. Such as, as a perfectly random example, getting inappropriately attached to said teammate. The whole team cares for each other, some combos more than others, but the weight distribution on those relationships cannot be tipped unfairly far just because there’s sex involved.

Tony has to trust that Steve will keep taking their interludes at face value, and enjoy them for what they are.

The fear that it could go wrong can never be completely shaken off (though it’s comparatively small to the general fear that’s propelled Tony’s general existence since Afghanistan) but as the days go on, every time Tony looks Steve right in the eye, he searches for and finds no expectation of deeper meaning. This gives Tony leave to relax in Steve’s presence more and more, as if the fact that Steve’s comfortable with casual means that he won’t be awful about other aspects about Tony, i.e. the ones that Tony’s tended to keep away or self-censor.

Anyway, it’s just freaking nice to be able to relax around Steve. Tony’s been relived for a while already that he doesn’t have to second-guess himself around Steve as much as he used to. So this new aspect? Well worth appreciating.

At least, it’s worth appreciating until a day almost two weeks (inclusive of intermittent sex all over the tower) after the fundraiser. Steve comes to see him up at the workshop, and is all serious and subdued. Tony thinks that something bad has happened to someone in the team, until Steve says, “Hey Tony, are you busy later? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Tony’s immediate internal response is: _oh fuck._ _Oh shit, oh fuck._

This is the moment he dreaded would happen, and it has arrived on an otherwise cheerful Saturday afternoon that he’d been looking forward to accomplishing absolutely nothing more important than installing a jazzed-up smoke detector on one of the bots.

“Sure,” Tony says, trying to sound cool and distant. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Oh, you mean right now?” Steve’s flustered, which increases the stormy pitch in Tony’s head.

There are speeches _in potentia_ inside Tony’s brain, and these have faded in and out of his consciousness since the second time Steve made him come. Speeches that go like: Tony’s been really lousy with boundaries for decades but he’s been trying to be neater about it and this would _not_ be neater. Or that he just doesn’t want a relationship right now, and even if he did, he’d be really bad at it and that wouldn’t be fair to Steve. Or that maybe they should just pretend that the last couple of weeks never happened, how about that?

It was fun while it lasted, but there were always limited outcomes in the end.

Out loud, he says, “Later or right now, doesn’t make a difference to me.”

“Okay, right now’s fine, we can just…” Steve does a little nod to himself, as though psyching himself up.

He suggests they go up to the roof for some privacy. Tony doesn’t have an opinion on whether they need privacy or not, so he agrees to it. They go up top, where the weather’s actually fantastic – the sun is shining and the clouds are few – but Tony’s so fixated on trying to figure out how to best to let Steve down kindly that he barely notices it.

The tragedy is, of course, that Tony’s not expecting what actually comes, either.

“I should’ve told you earlier, I know that,” Steve says. “That was wrong of me.”

“Okay,” Tony says.

“I accept your anger, but I hope we can talk it out.”

“All right.”

“The information’s not in the SHIELD drop itself, and we weren’t able to recover anything from Lehigh, but—”

“Wait wait wait.” Tony holds a hand up. “This is work-related.”

“No? Sort of, but mainly no.”

“How can it be mainly no? Either it is or it isn’t, and what’s… Lehigh? Your old stomping ground?”

“Yes, where Hydra’s old servers were, before they got destroyed at the—”

“Oh, it _is_ work.” Tony relaxes. “Geez, Steve, you got me wound up for nothing. You really need to work on your pacing and delivery, though I know that the sales pitch isn’t your forte—”

“Tony, can you please pay attention—”

“—but it’s generally a-given nowadays that if you open with, ‘We need to talk’, it’s really fucking ominous—”

“Tony, it’s about your parents.”

All the whirling gears in Tony’s head come to a stop. He stares at Steve, ready to make a comment about baseball fans who like to come out of the left field, but it doesn’t come.

“Okay,” Tony says. “Go.”

On the upside, there’s no need to have _that_ dreaded conversation with Steve.

On the downside, having a mostly one-sided conversation about the fucking assassination of his parents should to be at least twelve hundred times worse. Maybe? The whiplash makes it difficult for Tony to engage, so all his energy has to be spent on concentrating through Steve’s explaining about Arnim Zola’s second life as a computer server (which Tony already knew) and taunting them with how Hydra has gotten their greasy fingerprints all over history via Bucky Barnes as their Winter Soldier (which Tony somewhat knew about, but not this specific instance). His parents lay in the bulls-eye, and Hydra took it. Though Steve is more tactful about that is his retelling.

Tony’s initial gut-directed reaction isn’t anger. It’s mortified confusion, because surely this is something he should’ve already figured out by now, given enough pieces. It’s one thing to not have known the depth of Howard’s connection with SHIELD, but _Tony’s_ dug around SHIELD’s innards since then, and spent a few enjoyable days off rummaging around the infamous Hydra data drop, so why has it fallen to Steve to tell him about it?

“I’m gonna go,” Tony says.

“Okay,” Steve says quickly. “Of course.”

+

Tony goes downstairs, fetches a suit, and flies out to the old Stark stomping ground. He stays there for a couple of hours. He drops by the Stark family mausoleum, which he hasn’t been to in years. He makes a fly-by over DC, and the new Triskelion. The visits don’t help stop his mind from rattling like a pinball machine.

It’s late at night when he returns to the tower. After unsuiting, he goes to his room, then the workshop and then the lab, where each place he visits just makes him hyperaware of his restlessness.

He goes to Steve’s room, and knocks on the door.

It might’ve been simpler if Steve were out or asleep. Tony probably would’ve found something else to distract him. Maybe.

But Steve _is_ in, and he opens the door. His shirt’s rumpled but his eyes are alert, so he was probably just lying down reading or whatever else it is he does. He’s surprised to see Tony, and his mouth immediately opens to what Tony knows is going to be a concerned inquiry, but he doesn’t actually say it. As though he thinks that Tony doesn’t want to be asked, or that Steve doesn’t deserve to ask at all.

“I just want to tell you up front that I’m mad,” Tony says.

“All right,” Steve says.

“I’m pissed. At you. I want to make that clear.”

Steve’s expression is a mix of miserable and determined. His hands flex agitatedly by his sides, and he no doubt regrets that his sleeping shorts don’t have pockets to shove said fists into. “I understand.”

“We are clear, yeah?” Tony presses.

Once Steve nods, Tony cups Steve’s face with his hands and kisses him.

This course of action makes sense in Tony’s head. He’s fidgety and anxious, and a way to make himself _less_ fidgety and anxious would be to get laid, and the means by which he gets laid these days is Steve. The fact that Steve is also the cause of said fidgeting and anxiety is, for the moment, less relevant.

Whatever the case, Steve kisses him back. There’s surprise and confusion in said kisses, but they still come, strong and sure, and Steve’s hands land Tony’s waist to pull him into the room. At a kick, the door is closed shut.

“I want—” Tony winds his arms over Steve’s shoulders, and keeps pressing their mouths together between words, “—Steve, I want—”

“Okay, okay.” Steve’s palms move broad and heavy across Tony’s body, from his sides to the curve of his back and then over hips. He would never have been this bold a few weeks ago, but now he’s palming the globes of Tony’s butt as though he’s always known their shape and heft. Steve’s erection thickens gratifyingly against Tony’s thigh. “How do you—”

“Let me sit on your dick.” They haven’t done that yet, but Steve surely must’ve considered it. “It’s easy, you just need to lie there and stay hard.”

“I can definitely do more than that,” Steve mutters, slipping back into his usual belligerence.

“Or—” Tony bends one leg up, wrapping the calf around the back of Steve’s thigh so he’s effectively half-climbed up onto Steve’s waist, “—you could just _let_ me _sit_ on your dick.”

Steve swallows. His eyes are dark, and his hips jerk into the clutch of Tony’s leg. “Okay.”

They’ve never been completely naked together, let alone in a bedroom, let alone on a bed. But Tony’s headspace is too fuzzy to fully register all these milestones. He feels like he’s been floating all day, untethered and scrambling for something to focus on, and the only thing he thinks he can make himself focus on is the promise of Steve.

The promise offered _by_ Steve, who trade out of his sleeping clothes for a condom and sits on the bed, waiting for him. Steve appears the very model of patience, but Tony sees his labored breaths, and the way he seems to be memorizing the exact angle and pressure with which Tony’s opening himself up with his fingers.

“You’re sure, right,” Steve says, as if Tony’s the one who’s doing him a favor. “You’re sure that you want to do this? I mean, would it help if I apologize first?”

“For fuck’s sake.” Tony tosses the lube bottle aside and climbs over Steve’s lap. This was obviously a great idea, because the way that Steve seems hypnotized by his ass is already making him feel better. “I’m not angry at you for not telling me about my parents.”

“You’re not?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Steve’s mouth flattens into a polite line.

Tony narrows his eyes and grabs Steve’s dick, making him hiss. “Don’t look so relieved, Steve.”

“Can you blame me, though?” Steve lets himself fall all the way flat onto his back, his chin tipped up as he modulates his breathing. He looks at the ceiling as Tony sinks down onto him, taking it half-inch by half-inch. Once Tony settles on his lap, Steve releases a long, whistling breath through pursed lips. “Kinda difficult to make you feel better when I don’t know exactly what you’re feeling in the first place.”

“That’s the problem, genius.” Tony circles lightly onto Steve’s lap, testing the fullness inside him. It’s been way too long, but Steve’s cock is a perfect reason to get back in the saddle, as it were. “Even I don’t know how I’m feeling right now, and that’s _your_ fault, which is why I’m mad.”

“Oh.” Steve frowns as he tries to wrap his head around that. “You’re mad because you don’t know how you feel?”

“Look, I’m gonna fuck you, so can we talk about this after?”

“Right, sure, go for it— _ah!_ ”

All the pent-up energy with nowhere to go now gets poured into riding Steve, hard and fast. Tony does try to build up to a decent rhythm, but he’s immediately distracted by the way Steve throws his head back, his mouth open in shock at the feel of Tony clenching around him. Tony wants him to keep looking like that – Steve Rogers surprised by what his own body is capable of, what a sight.

This is what Tony needs. It is simple and perfect, and Steve has given it to him.

Tony arches his back, his hands clinging onto Steve’s thighs behind him for leverage. He moves without hesitation, finding his favorite angle and rocking onto Steve’s cock so firmly that there’s a wet smacking sound every other time he bottoms out. It’s the kind of fuck that could break the bed, if their beds weren’t purchased on Tony’s very generous tab.

Steve can take it, of course, whatever his actual experience level may be. The man makes for an inspirational sight as he does, too: sweat glistens across the various rises and dips of his body, his skin is flushed pink and his nipples are drawn taut despite being untouched. His hands seem stuck to Tony’s waist, too, his fingers clinging on for dear life.

“Tony, Tony, God, I, it’s so—”

At first that seems to be Steve’s typical mid-sex blabber, but then he snaps his hips up against Tony’s ass – three times in quick, clumsy succession – which sends glorious lightning over Tony’s body, except.

“Steve.” Tony stops moving and catches his breath. Meanwhile, Steve’s whole body relaxes. “Steve, what did I say?”

Steve mumbles something.

“What’s that?” Tony says.

Steve clears his throat. “I said! I can stay hard. Keep going.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes!” Steve thrusts upwards to prove his point. His hands settle lower on Tony’s hips, testing the purchase there. “Keep going.”

It’s annoying to have lost his groove, but Steve’s not lying about being able to stay hard. Tony grinds down a few times and finds firmness waiting for him. That’s actually really sexy, and puts into mind the possibility of just sitting on Steve whenever, wherever, taking what he needs and giving his prostate the workout of his dreams.

Pleasure rushes up Tony’s body. He speeds up his movements of squeezing and release, which are this time made easier by Steve’s loose-limbed moving with him.

“Need a hand?” Steve asks.

Tony nods. Steve wraps his fingers around Tony’s shaft, and Tony adjust his grip, showing him how to time with it to Tony’s every fuck down onto Steve’s cock.

The orgasm isn’t as fierce as he thought it would be, but it blooms sweet and satisfying. Tony makes sure to keep the angle good – Steve’s shaft pressed exactly where he needs it to be inside, while Steve’s fingers finish him off from the outside. Here's the evidence of how much he needed it – both the bliss itself, and the whole-body contentment after.

At the end of it, Tony sways a little where he’s seated, dazed and satisfied.

“Do you mind if I?” Steve says. When Tony shakes his head, Steve adjusts his grip tighter on Tony’s waist and lifts him every-so-slightly off Steve’s lap. The extra space is necessary for the next handful of teeth-rattling thrusts Steve makes upward into Tony’s well-used hole.

Tony has no complaints about Steve’s second orgasm.

The post-coital haze is pleasant, and the pull of sleep is immediate. Tony resists it just long enough to crawl off of Steve, after which he’s sitting on a _bed_ , with _sheets_ , so he lies down exactly where he is. The mess in his ass is for tomorrow’s Tony to deal with.

“I’m going to pass out now,” Tony says, and he does.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony wakes up to an unfamiliar pillow and unfamiliar sheets. He blinks in the early-morning gray, and eventually remembers the sequence of events that brought him here. He wriggles a little, confirming the pleasant soreness down below, but not the stickiness that should come with it. He tugs at the blanket that’s covering him, and the glow of the arc reactor confirms that although he’s as naked as when he’d gotten off, he’s also cleaned up.

Steve’s not in his room. The other side of the bed is still slightly warm, so he must’ve gotten up not too long ago, probably for his morning run.

It’s a nice, clean room, though it has few personal touches. The book Tony guessed Steve had been reading last night is on the bedstand, a leather-looking bookmark tucked between its pages.

Tony feels a twinge in his chest, which has nothing to do with the arc reactor. He tries to go back to sleep, but after five minutes of failing at it, he gets up and goes to the bathroom. He checks between his legs – yep, all clean – and takes the spare toothbrush set out for him to clean his teeth.

He remembers coming on Steve’s cock. He remembers Steve coming twice. He definitely remembers the relief of being able to focus on having sex with Steve, and how good it felt. All the physical details are clear and fresh, and would make excellent spank bank material if he needs it.

But he’d missed something last night in his determination to get off. 

Tony returns to the bed, intending to use the time before Steve gets back to put his thoughts in order. Naturally, this means that as soon as he lies down, he drifts back to sleep and snorts awake to the sound of the shower in use.

Steve comes out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair dry with a small towel while a larger one is wrapped around his hips. He slows when he sees that Tony’s awake. “Morning.”

“By _your_ definition, thanks,” Tony replies.

A smile slides onto Steve’s face, and there’s less hesitation when he sits on the bed. “You can go back to sleep, it’s fine.”

Tony hums, disinterested in the suggestion. He sits up and reaches over to put a palm on the closest part of Steve that he can reach, which in this case is the back of his hand. Enthralled by the play of shadow on Steve’s skin, Tony slides his fingers along the long line of muscle and sinew of Steve’s arm, to the broad turn of Steve’s shoulder. Smooth to the touch, save the tickle of his body hair. No scars.

It’s not news that Steve’s nice to look at. But to observe is not the same thing as to know, and this morning Tony’s clearheaded enough to know that Steve let him get away with a lot last night.

Oh, Steve enjoyed it, that’s for sure. But he’d given way to Tony more than he normally would have, and for the sake of – what? Peace, or penance?

Tony moves in now, shuffling forward on his knees until he’s close enough to nudge his mouth against Steve’s. Steve’s breath is warm against the space next to Tony’s mouth, and his eyes flutter shut as he leans into the kiss. It’s slow and languid, with no goal to chase save the warm welcome heat of each other’s mouths. Tony runs a hand over the back of Steve’s skull, tickling himself with the strands of damp hair, while Steve’s fingers move in feather-light strokes along the dip of Tony’s lower back.

Tony’s kissing him now isn’t an apology. Steve would probably be insulted by an apology, as if he hadn’t known exactly what he was doing, and what Tony needed. Even so, last night pushed a line, while one thing that’s been perfectly clear between them is that they’re not coolly and callously using each other. It’s not that kind of scene, and Tony needs to Steve to know that that’s still true.

“You want to be inside me again?” Tony says quietly. It seems right to whisper, this early in the morning.

Steve’s hand tightens on Tony’s back, though he takes care not to touch the bruises he’d left last night. “Are you sore? Would it hurt?”

“A bit sore, but in a good way, I promise.”

“I’ll know,” Steve warns him. “If it hurts, I’ll know.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Steve noses his way across Tony’s chin, rubbing his cheek against the facial hair there. “Can I be on top?”

“Sure, why not.”

So far, Steve’s been game for everything that Tony’s put on the table, with only the occasional minor adjustment as they’ve gone along. The result of this is that Tony doesn’t have much of a clue of what _Steve_ himself likes, since he seems to like everything.

Curiosity now makes Tony lazy. He kisses Steve until Steve gets restless and pushes him onto his back. He flops onto the bed and spreads his legs, but doesn’t complain when Steve just wants to lie on top of him and keep kissing. They rock together, the narrow space between their bodies lit by the glow of the arc reactor.

It feels like an age before Steve finally rises off of Tony, detouring to the side table to fetch lube and a fresh condom. Tony does him Steve favor by getting a hand under one knee and pulling it all the way up to his chest. There’s a really awesome moment where Steve’s so startled by the sight that he drops the condom, but it’s all good – Tony laughs, and Steve laughs.

There’s less laughing when Steve touches him, damp fingers probing at his opening. The tenderness makes Tony gasp, but he’s so ready.

“Two fingers is fine.” Tony feels Steve watching him closely, and just lets the sensation wash over him. “Just pump it a few times, that’s enough. A pillow would be good – put it under me.”

Steve gets Tony’s legs over his shoulders, Tony’s knees bracketing Steve’s face. For a second Tony’s distracted by the changing color of the curtains behind Steve – the sun’s come up – but then Steve’s pushing into him, a smooth glide home that makes Tony shiver.

There is some discomfort, but that’s a mere side effect of how used he feels. Truth be told, the sensitivity just makes it more fun – layers of sensation ripple through each other at each press and pull.

“Feels good,” Tony pants. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop, Steve.”

Steve doesn’t. He goes slow, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause, doesn’t let up. Steve moves with a breathtakingly even pace, as though his goal to merely grow used to the feel of Tony around him, instead of any idea of reaching a finishing line. Tony holds onto Steve’s biceps, relishing the rhythm of tense-and-relax that echoes the movement of Steve inside him.

Steve does his best to focus on Tony, mindful of any wrong move, but as the minutes tick on and his thrusts build, so do his eyes his glaze over.

“It’s good, yeah?” Tony says.

Steve nods quickly. “It’s – it’s so—”

“Just feel it. That’s the good stuff.”

Tony probably wouldn’t have minded if he doesn’t come. But Steve would mind, so Tony lets Steve touch him, fondling with him to fullness and then teasing the head to the edge of cruelty, exactly the way Tony likes, because Steve’s been _taking notes._

The sound Tony makes when he comes cannot be called dignified in any way, but the orgasm is so stupendous that he doesn’t mind. Steve’s more picturesque when it’s his turn, of course, his face contorted in an idealized form of bliss as he buries himself to the hilt inside Tony.

In the aftermath, they unwind their limbs and lie together on the bed, pressed shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip. Steve recovers first, because super soldiers are assholes.

“I just showered,” Steve says.

Tony laughs. “I’m paying your water bill, it’s fine.”

They fall quiet again.

“What I don’t get it,” Tony says loudly as he props himself up on one elbow, “is why you’ve only told me now. Yesterday. I mean, I understand _why_ , you didn’t have anything more solid to give me beyond he-said/computer-said, but that shouldn’t have stopped you. It was a piece of intel that needed telling, and you did not tell, until yesterday.”

Steve meets Tony’s gaze mildly. There might’ve been a fight in that gaze last night, but not today and not this morning.

“I kept putting it off because I couldn’t see it going any way but bad,” Steve says. “I thought that if I waited long enough I’d figure out a way that it wouldn’t be—”

“No, I know that already. I’m asking why _now_. Why yesterday, when you could’ve kept on waiting for the perpetual tomorrow.”

Steve exhales. “The other day, you told me how you and Rhodey broke into the engineering lab at SI to prove a point to Howard—”

“I was there, I know the story. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“You wouldn’t have shared that story with me before. It’s personal, and I know that’s difficult for you, that you’re very particular about…” Steve shifts, discomfited, while Tony quashes his own discomfort under a very firm mental boot. “So it’s on me to step up and make the correction I should’ve done earlier.”

“The correction?”

“I thought that you’d rather be angry at Howard for real reasons instead a fake one.”

“My mom’s involved, too, though.”

Steve nods. “I’m sorry.”

“Problem is, I don’t know how to feel about any of it. I can’t be angry – I mourned ages ago. I can’t avenge them – I’m literally already doing that by hunting Hydra down. It doesn’t even really change how I feel about my parents as people because I’ve got a hundred other reasons for Howard, and my mom – it was always unfair what happened to her, no matter how it happened.” Tony sighs and rubs his knuckles against the grain of his chin. “I should feel something, right? They’re my parents and I should be… It’s not because I’m heartless, right? I mean, yes, I keep making jokes about being dead inside—”

Steve grips Tony’s knee, almost urgently. “You’re not heartless, Tony.”

“I hope not.”

“You’re not,” Steve says firmly. “You can’t force yourself to feel something. It’ll come when it comes, and if it does, you can deal with it then.”

“Maybe,” Tony says with a shrug. “And don’t ever drop a bombshell like that on me again.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

Tony taps a finger on Steve’s forehead, at the space between his eyebrows. “See, this is why regular people don’t think you’re real. You make promises just like that, as if they’re really that easy, and the words like, _vibrate_ , with your weird Captain America truthiness.”

“I don’t think promises are easy,” Steve says ruefully. “I just know that I must do my best to keep them.”

“Can I get you to promise me a decent breakfast? I think I missed dinner.”

“Of course you did.” Steve rises up onto his feet and along hooks his hand under Tony’s arm, hauling him up to join him. “I hereby promise that you will have shower and a decent breakfast.”

“Gee whiz, Captain America, what would I do without you.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “No, don’t do that.”

“Not a kink? Okay, my bad. Shower sex, though?”

Steve seems to actually consider this. “No, that’d take too long. Priority’s on breakfast.”

“Gotcha,” Tony says agreeably.


	5. Chapter 5

Now that beds are involved, it’d be a shame not to make the most of it.

After the next team mission – two days spent out in Natasha’s old stomping ground – and they’re back in the tower, Tony makes his move. He waits until most of the team has been cleared by medical, and after that he oh-so-nonchalantly wanders over to where Steve is in a chair, half his tactical suit hanging off of him, tapping away furiously on his tablet.

“You,” Tony says, “take post-mission reports way more seriously than is warranted.”

“I just like getting them done when it’s still fresh,” Steve says.

“Sure, but it was a clean in-and-out.”

“All the more important to get it down. It’s good to appreciate the straightforward ops when we get them.”

“Okay, yeah, that makes sense. Anyway, I’m going to do some code debugging, but if you’re in the mood for a sleepover later, just let me know.”

Steve looks up from his tablet, confused. “A sleepover?”

“Another floor up,” Tony says, referring to his rooms being above Steve’s. “Drop me a message if you want to, that’s all.”

“I appreciate it.” Steve has the most magnificent poker face; his expression doesn’t change at all. If it were anyone else, Tony would’ve preferred to get a lewd onceover at the suggestion, but Steve’s clear-eyed directness is its own kind of scorching hot. “I’ll let you know.”

“That’s hilarious,” Clint says, making Tony jump. Tony thought that Clint was still in the room with Cho but nope, there he is, chewing on a stolen tongue depressor as he saunters by. Clint continues, “A ‘sleepover’. That makes it sound like…”

Clint trails off, leaving the floor open for what he probably expected would be Steve and Tony’s responding laugh. But instead he gets two mildly unimpressed stares, and comes to a surprised halt.

“Oh shit,” Clint says. “Nat wasn’t kidding.”

“It’d do you good to pay attention, Clint,” Steve says.

“Just wanna be clear, though,” Tony adds, “ _you_ are not invited. It’s grown-ups only.”

“Wow, okay.” Clint makes a face and strolls out of the room. “Bruce! Did you know that Steve and Tony are banging?” Bruce’s mild reply is distant and muted.

“Anyway,” Tony says as he turns back to Steve, “don’t feel obligated. Just a suggestion, for whenever you’re free.”

“I’d be worried if I ever felt _obligated_ ,” Steve says dryly. “You think you can squeeze a mission report in between your debugging?”

“Probably. I guess. I’ll make half an effort to remember.”

“See that you do,” Steve says.

Tony sweeps out of the room in good spirits, and even tells JARVIS to remind him later about the report Steve wants.

+

It’s just nice, to have this little extra thing. It’s nice that there’s something fun that he can share with _Steve_ , of all people. Steve, the self-righteous prick who once sneered at Tony, like almost everyone else does, for having a past that Tony can’t change. Steve’s admission about what he knew about Tony’s parents just proves that it’s not entirely stupid to sleep with a teammate, if said sleeping together provides a stepping stone in making that kind of conversation happen.

They’re not best buddies (hah) but here is a specific plane of existence where they happen to jive, and can be frank with each other about how much they enjoy a good fuck. Here, their wants overlap, and it leaves the rest of their lives as their own, without censure or pressure.

One night the whole team goes to a fancy dinner celebrating the local heroes of New York. Less a meet-and-greet and more drag-the-spotlight-onto-others, everyone’s feeling good about the required mingling, which is combined with not having to put on as solid a gameface as they usually have to. Another bonus of the night (for Tony, as well many others present no doubt) is the sight of Steve in a sharp midnight blue dinner suit, tailored to the perfection that is his shoulder-to-waist ratio.

Days such as these keep them going. Good vibes to feed the soul, or whatever it is that runs the great engine of purpose that drives the Avengers as a collective.

When they get back to the tower, no one seems in a hurry to call it a night. Bruce suggests they go up to the party floor and mix some drinks just ‘cause, and everyone else is so surprised at _Bruce_ making the suggestion that agreement is universal.

“I have not checked the inventory since the last—what was it?” Tony tugs his tie free as he bounds up the steps to the bar. He hears the shuffling of feet around the game table, followed by a crack as someone tests the pool balls.

“Maria’s birthday,” Bruce says.

“And yes,” Natasha adds, “it’s been restocked.”

“I maintain that that was not Maria’s real birth date,” Clint says. “I don’t care what the SHIELD files say.”

Natasha scoffs. “Thor, can you get the cues?”

“One each, yes?” Thor yes.

“Those are rigged, by the by,” Clint says. “Not all of them, but there’s at least one trick cue—”

“You’re not going to play anyway,” Bruce says. “What would even be the point for you?”

While the others discuss the finer points of hand-eye-coordination, Tony fetches glasses from the cabinets and spreads them out on a tray. He hears Steve step up behind him, and does not bother looking up when he feels a hand caress his butt, moving over one full cheek in a firm, curved stroke.

“Watch the goods, buddy,” Tony says.

“I am watching.” Steve’s voice is close behind Tony’s left shoulder. “That’s why.”

Tony huffs a laugh, and puts a mixer and two bottles on the bar top to join the glasses. He can feel Steve’s body heat – the long length of him shadowing Tony as he moves back and forth along the bar, never interfering or bumping but staying close. “You think I wore these pants for your benefit?”

“You think I wore a suit that matches my eyes for yours?”

“Of course not. That would be presumptuous.”

A third shadow falls across the bar top, and Thor says way too loudly, “Oh pardon me! I thought I might collect some chalk for the cue sticks, but mayhaps I have to find some other way to the cabinet, haha.”

“It’s right here.” Tony pulls open a low drawer and tosses the pack to a grateful Thor. To Steve, Tony says, “Go, play. Kick their asses.”

Steve, he of handsome face and thoughtful brow, inclines his head thoughtfully. “Or we could get out of here.”

“ _You_ can do that, if you want. I am going to mix a few drinks for my friends.”

“All right, then. I’ll play a round or two.” Steve pulls his tie free from his collar and sets it on the bar top. Holding Tony’s eye, Steve pops open the first two buttons of his crisp dinner shirt, revealing a lovely golden triangle of skin, perfect for biting. Then Steve turns abruptly and joins the others, leaving Tony grinning to himself.

Predictably, it’s not long into the game when various people erupt with demands for fairness, modification of the rules, and Thor’s insistence that they play it the ‘true’ way.

As for Tony, he mixes a few non-fancy drinks and lays them out on the tray – thus giving the team something else to fight over. That done, Tony makes eye-contact with Bruce, who nods good-naturedly in response, and quietly slips away from the area, bypassing the elevator that’s within view for the hidden fire stairs at the far end.

Steve will notice he’s gone soon enough, but that doesn’t matter. As soon as Tony’s down the corridor he moves into a brisk jog.

To his room, or to Steve’s? How about somewhere else entirely? The last few times they’d rolled around together, they’d done it on Tony’s much more substantial bed. That’s been great fun, but maybe he should change it up.

Tony’s halfway up a second flight of stairs when he changes his mind, and backtracks for the gym. The scene of the initial crime, as it were, and it could be fun to mess up a couple of yoga mats in their dinner suits. Let Steve find him.

Except as soon as he starts back down to the landing, he hears voices. Steve’s voice in particular, which he recognizes before he even makes out the words, and immediately feels an irritated pang of _goddammit_ _, Steve’s so freaking fast_.

Then Tony hears his name.

“Look,” Steve’s saying quietly, “…yes, Tony deflects and obfuscates… he is very clear about what he…” The words slip in and out of hearing range. Tony edges around the corner, and just catches a slender arm cocked against the owner’s hip, which can only be Natasha. Steve exhales – a sound meant to communicate relief. “It just is.”

Natasha’s voice is a low murmur, barely audible at all.

“I appreciate it, but we’ve got it covered,” Steve says.

Tony quickly and quietly tiptoes away. A normal person would probably be curious to know more, but Tony’s had a lifetime of people talking about him, whether or not he can hear it, and there’s not much that Steve and Natasha can say that would be a surprise. If anything, the real surprise would be that Natasha’s only voicing her concern about their hooking up _now_ , when they’ve already moved from singular to plural months of going at it.

Tony makes it to his room, and is just a little out of breath. He unbuttons the suit and is about to yank it aside before he realizes that Steve might want to peel it off of him. He leaves it on, but undoes the cuffs, for convenience. As he does that, he looks around, trying to pick something .

It’s at this point that there’s a faint knock at the door and Steve enters.

“Oh.” Steve’s eyebrows go up at the sight of Tony. “I thought you’d be, uh…”

Tony throws his hands in the air. “I _would_ have set the scene if _someone_ gave me actual time to brainstorm.”

“Really?” Steve’s smile widens, and he runs his fingers along the hem of Tony’s suit, tugging teasingly at the material. “So you’re saying that if Natasha didn’t waylay me I might’ve caught you on the stairs?”

“That’s not at sexy as it sounds. Do you know what the air circulation is like in the stairwell? What did Natasha want?”

“She just wanted to voice her concern, you know how it is.”

Tony didn’t really mean to ask about Natasha. But Steve brought her up first, and Tony expected that he’d say that Natasha wanted to talk about work. Tony’s so surprised by Steve’s blunt answer that he double-takes, unsure if he should feel insulted or not.

His mouth decides to go without him, though, and says, “Afraid I’m a bad influence on you, huh?”

Steve starts, his brow knitting together. “No? No, that’s not – she means me. I’m the one who… you know.”

Tony stares at him, at a loss.

“C’mon, Tony, I… I don’t…” Steve shuffles on his feet, suddenly looking too small for his perfectly tailored suit. “I don’t have anything else, beyond the Avengers. Ice – SHIELD – Avengers, that’s it. It’s a narrow existence to begin with, so it probably seems worrying from her viewpoint, that after I’d ignored every single attempt to help me find companionship outside, that I’d…” He lifts his hands in a weak gesture towards Tony. “I disagree, of course.”

“You disagree,” Tony echoes.

“That I only want this because it’s… nearby. Convenient. Natasha didn’t use those words, but I got her meaning.” Steve frowns, but more at an unseen thought than at Tony. “And I think that that’s an unkind way to look at it. I’d rather call it freeing.”

“Freeing?”

“If it were someone outside, I’d have to introduce myself, and explain myself, and figure out how to tell them what I want, when I barely know that myself most of the time. I’d have to spend time thinking how much I can tell them about our missions, or worry that they’re after _me_ or will put our team in danger. Hell, I’d have to worry if I’m making them a target just by showing my interest in them. Of course, _you_ can take care of yourself. There are still risks involved, yes, but you – you’re aware of those risks, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Tony nods. “'course I am.”

“See? You get it. I know I should be open to other experiences, and put myself out there…”

“I think you should do exactly what you’re comfortable with. You’ve had your whole freaking life upended. Why should you have to push the envelope after that?” Tony isn’t a fan of the self-conscious knot between Steve’s eyes, and approaches Steve in the hopes of easing it up. He puts his hands on Steve’s arms and squeezes comfortingly. “We know each other, and don’t need to change much anything about our lives. That’s a bunch of steps skipped right over. Of course that’d be a relief.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Of course, it’s _me_ who’s agreeing with you, so.”

“No, that still counts,” Steve says with a grin. “I’ve been informed that you’re very smart.”

“Hah!”

The sudden loose-limbed relief of Steve’s body is a wonder to behold, especially because Tony’s the one who accomplished that. What’s also amazing is that Tony really does understand where Steve is coming from, because it’s close to what he feels himself. It’s all been blessedly low-stress, and he’s only needed to shuffle a small portion of his life slightly sideways in order to make room for Steve.

“Can I just…?” Steve rests his hands at Tony’s chest, over his suit and silk shirt. He stays there for a few heated seconds that sends prickles rising at the back of Tony’s neck, and then hooks his thumbs into the lapels to push them apart in a slow, teasing drag. The pressure passes through Tony’s shirt and undershirt to his nipples, and Tony gasps softly.

Steve’s really hot when he’s like this – relaxed and confident, and taking his own sweet time just because he can. Steve isn’t the kind of guy who indulges himself much, at least as far as Tony can tell, so it’s a goddamned thrill to be part of this. It’s a goddamned privilege to be undressed by Steve’s careful hands, his touch lingering at every patch of skin he uncovers.

Tony gets his own, too, of course. He gropes Steve under his suit, tracing the hard planes of his stomach before going around to cup the fullness of his ass. The material flatters Steve in touch as well as in looks, though Tony suspects that Steve could wear some of Tony’s classic 90s fashion disasters and still be disturbingly attractive.

They kiss as they undress each other, though it’s less proper kissing and more a lazy brushing of mouths. Desire builds in unhurried waves, and Tony wonders how much of this he can take before he hits a limit and just shoves Steve onto the bed.

Steve hums thoughtfully against Tony’s cheek. “You feeling up for fucking me?”

“You want to try? Okay, we can give it a go.”

Steve leans back to scrutinize Tony. He’s down to his boxers by this point, and is thoroughly distracting for it. “That is a very neutral tone of voice,” he says.

Tony deliberately presses forward, and pushes his hard-on against Steve’s thigh. “This is gonna be in you, Steve. How about we just relax and let it happen.”

A flush rises in Steve’s cheeks. “All right.”

In these past weeks, Steve hasn’t said anything about how much experience he actually has. He shouldn’t have to, of course, and anyway Tony gets the feeling that this is one of those sore spots that Steve pretends he doesn’t have or has gotten over, much like everything else that life’s thrown at him (ha). The info wouldn’t have much bearing on what they’ve been doing so far, but it does make Tony want to make this good for him.

That doesn’t mean handling Steve with protective gloves, but meeting Steve’s desire with Tony’s own. It means spreading Steve out on the bed like a banquet and kissing bruises all over his skin; they’ll be gone tomorrow, but Steve will know where each and every one was. Tony pulls out a bunch of his favorite tricks, too, such as sucking both of Steve’s balls into his mouth as Tony fingers him open, then bringing Steve right to the edge again and again.

If it were someone else, Tony would probably be impatient and get the other guy to set the pace, but Steve is so worth the effort.

Steve’s flexibility is also fun. When Steve’s on the verge, gasping on every other breath and dripping pre-come all over his stomach, Tony finally lifts one of Steve’s legs up in the air – perfectly straight upward, with no strain to Steve himself – and settles into the near-ninety-degree juncture between Steve’s legs. Tony holds his dick steady, aiming the condom-covered head at Steve’s wet hole and, after a pause where Steve takes an excited breath in, pushes. The initial sink into tightness makes Tony gasp, and then he’s sliding into a perfect, warm sheath.

“Oh.” Steve’s chest heaves. “Oh, that’s – yeah.”

“Right on in.” Tony takes a second to settle flush against Steve’s body, and then adjusts Steve’s stretched leg where’s propped against Tony’s chest. “Gonna take you now. You gonna stay nice and open for me?”

Steve nods rapidly. “Yeah. Yeah, go – just go.”

Tony rolls his hips, a liquid movement from waist to knee that has him burying his cock in Steve over and over. Steve is warm and tight around him, and squeezes every time Tony pulls back, as though to keep him in.

A solid pace seems best for what Steve needs, so Tony gives it to him, and all the while drinks in the dazed realization that shines on Steve’s face. It’s always to fun watch strong men strain impatiently as they get fucked, their muscles rippling all over their body as they do, and Steve proves the rule beautifully.

“Tony, Tony, oh God—” Steve gasps. “Could you – could you get the—”

Tony braces a knee on the mattress to adjust his angle. There’s no doubt when he gets it right, because Steve jerks so hard that his shoulders almost lift off the bed entirely. Fucking Steve is a decent workout, but Tony has enough breath leftover to laugh against Steve’s knee, as he strikes Steve’s sweet spot again, and again, and again. No one can blame Tony for that, not when Steve gasps for it so nicely.

“You gonna touch yourself, or am I gonna have to see to that?” Tony asks.

Steve blinks blearily, as though he hadn’t heard the question. Perhaps that’s all the answer Tony needs. Tony wraps a hand around Steve’s dick, intending to work it, but that touch alone has Steve coming wildly, spilling everywhere as his whole body jerks. The bedframe creaks in protest.

It's sexy as all fuck. Tony’s almost shaking with need as he pushes Steve’s knee off his shoulder and moves it all the way up onto Steve’s chest. There, Tony holds Steve down and fucks him through Steve’s aftershocks and whimpers, chasing his release.

When Tony finally comes, he curses through gritted teeth, and Steve’s eyes are clear again. Steve watches Tony eagerly, and bears down around him, clenching rhythmically around Tony’s length to take it all, milking him dry.

Tony waits out the aftermath, and takes deep, labored breaths to regain decent muscle control. He pulls out of Steve, and maybe takes longer than strictly necessary in doing so, just so he can watch the wet drag out of Steve’s swollen hole.

Once Steve’s legs are freed, he stretches out on the bed and interlaces his fingers on his chest. “Okay, I see why you like that.”

“I know, right!” Tony rolls off the bed, on the way to the bathroom. “You going to stay the night?”

Steve makes a face. “Are you kicking me out?”

“You didn’t bring a change of clothes this time, and there’s only one person who lives here who’d be fine seeing you walk back to your room near-buff in the morning.”

“I don’t have to walk in the buff, near or otherwise. We didn’t tear anything this time, not even the buttons.”

“Okay, fair.”

Tony pauses at the bathroom’s threshold, just to take in the sight of six plus feet of Steve Rogers, sprawled out Tony’s bed, sated and drowsy. Steve seems to sense Tony’s watching and turns, meeting his gaze across the distance. Steve smiles a little, as if he knows exactly what Tony’s thinking, and it feels like a tangible caress on Tony’s skin.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note:** There is no Steve/Bucky in this fic, but _Tony_ thinks there is, and he has extensive thoughts about Steve and Bucky as a couple (though they are not).

On one late morning there are three of them in the conference room – Tony, Steve and Hill – having an informal discussion about the tower’s power distribution. As far as Tony’s concerned it’s an unremarkable meeting, and part and parcel of keeping the place running.

The only notable thing is that Steve gets interrupted by a call on his cell. He gets up with an apology and takes it outside room, and returns barely a minute later. All in all, not really noteworthy, except for how Steve’s concentration is shot. It’s not obvious enough for Hill to call him out, and Steve not being 100% focused just means that he needs to reread a number or two on the presentation as they go through it, but it’s there.

Tony waits until they’re finished, and Hill’s bustled off. He and Steve also get up for the elevator – Tony’s needed in R&D soon anyway – but he does bump Steve’s shoulder and say, “What’s up?”

“Call from Sam, you remember him? He, uh…” Steve pauses strangely, and steals a quick glance at Tony. “Sam from DC, who helped with—”

“I have met him, Steve,” Tony says. “You’re babbling. Or what passes as babbling for you, anyway. It’s kinda refreshing, actually.” He looks over at Steve, but gets only dead air. Steve’s still distracted, then. “Okay, so you do your errand or whatever. I’ll be with the science babies all day. We on for dinner?”

“Can’t be sure. I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, no big.”

The elevator door opens, and they step into it. Steve seems to be full-on mentally checked out now, which is a novel enough occurrence that Tony can’t stop looking at him in amusement, memorizing his distant boss-man scowl for mocking later.

They’re approaching Tony’s floor first, so Tony says, “All right then, bye,” and leans over to give Steve a friendly grope of a bicep.

But Steve flinches, jerking out of Tony’s reach. Tony’s so startled that he loses his balance and sways backwards to compensate, ultimately stepping away from Steve. An apology automatically rises in his throat – Steve’s touchy, and of course it’s his right to be touchy whenever, and Tony may have gotten better at reading his moods but obviously he’d misread this moment.

The apology doesn’t have a chance to come out, though, because Steve immediately says, “JARVIS, hold the elevator, please.”

Tony’s heartbeat seems to triple instantly, hammering loud in his ribcage. It’s not just a misread moment, it’s a _bad_ moment, and he doesn’t even know what’s happening or why. Steve’s having trouble looking at him directly, until he forces himself to do so.

“I’m sorry, I thought I’d have some time to… Sam’s called because he has a lead on Bucky.” The words come out of Steve in a rush. “Maybe. He’s not positive, but I’m going to check it out.”

“Oh, okay.” Tony racks his brain. It’s news to him that Steve has been actively looking for Barnes, but maybe Steve mentioned it and Tony forgot. Sure, Steve barely _ever_ talks about Barnes so it doesn’t seem likely that Tony would’ve forgotten if he’d said anything recently, but maybe Steve mentioned it before they started spending more time around each other. Tony definitely wasn’t paying much attention then. “Gotcha.”

“All right,” Steve says slowly. “JARVIS, you can keep going now.”

Through the next handful of silent seconds, Tony’s still confused.

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve says, low and heartfelt.

The elevator opens on the R&D floor. As Tony exits, he turns back one more time to Steve, puzzled and wondering if Steve is just worried that he’s indirectly reminding Tony about the assassination thing, despite that being Hydra’s doing and far from Barnes’ fault.

But then Steve says, awkwardness oozing from every pore, “I know I should’ve told you about Bucky. I didn’t think there was a chance of finding him any time soon, but that’s not an excuse, I know. It’s not fair to you, and Bucky’s the one who… I’m sorry.”

The elevator closes on Steve’s guilty face.

Tony stares at the door, and then slowly makes his way to R&D. Half-finished sentences from a flustered Steve make for curious brain fodder.

Steve clearly expected Tony to get upset, and was bracing for it; there were too many apologies too close together. Meanwhile, there are multiple blank spots in the narrative that exists in Tony’s head, and he now has to scramble to figure out what they were. What did he miss? Why would Tony ever get upset with Steve wanting to find Barnes, and what does any of it have to do with being ‘fair’?

It's funny, though. That last look on Steve’s face as the doors closed, it was as if he’d been caught doing something naughty. Though in this case that something naughty would’ve been Barnes, ha.

Tony’s footsteps falter.

That’s not what Steve meant, though. When he apologized for not telling Tony about Barnes, that couldn’t have been — no.

Probably no?

Sure, there’d been loads of speculation even before Steve came out of the ice about the true nature of Steve’s relationship with Barnes back in the day. Sure, even now Steve keeps so much close to his chest, especially anything to do with the life that had been taken away from him. And sure, even if Steve _did_ want to talk about any of that, it’d be with Natasha or Sam – not Tony, who can count on one hand the number of times Steve’s mentioned anything about his past less vague than quips about having to walk ten miles with asthma, heart palpitations and the threat of an ass-whooping just to get to the grocery store.

But none of any of this is evidence Steve actually _had_ something with Barnes.

+

Anyway, even if there was something going on between them, it doesn’t really affect Tony.

Tony and Steve are not together – they’ve been having fun, but not much more than that. Tony doesn’t even know for sure if it’s exclusive, despite what Steve’s said about being uninterested in anyone outside his self-defined comfort zone. Trust and shared experiences are what made it worthwhile for him to pursue.

Of course, Barnes fits even further into Steve’s comfort zone. He wouldn’t just sit smack dab in the middle of said zone where Steve’s the most comfortable; he probably defines the whole damn thing.

Tony knows the old stories about Steve and his best buddy Barnes. He practically grew up with them. They’re exaggerated, of course, much like the stories of Steve himself as Captain America, but all the tales are built around a kernel of truth. Look at Steve: imperfect, but good and dependable. The partnership he had with Barnes may have been splintered by the manipulation of others, but it transcends time. Tony knows from Natasha and the SHIELD reports of what Steve let Barnes do to him at the Triskelion, for the sake of getting through his brainwashing. Steve, throwing a fight? That’s a world-breaking.

Doesn’t mean that they were like _that_ in the past, though. The heart on Steve’s sleeve was for Peggy, after all.

But Tony can’t be so small-minded as to assume that Steve couldn’t have had a heart large enough for both. It’s possible that he was merely more open about pinning his hopes to Peggy because she was the partner that was safe for the public to know.

Tony can imagine it: the repression and yearning through the perceived limitations of their era. Close but not close enough, only allowing the barest of acknowledgements through glances and words. Maybe Steve didn’t even realize how he felt until he lost Barnes, and a second chance seventy years later has sparked new potential that Steve will chase down to its fullest completion.

That’s just imagining it. It doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with how Steve apologized to Tony for not telling him about Barnes.

Steve’s a romantic. Tony knows this, and has known it from the start of their hook-ups. He’d wondered then, didn’t he, how Steve could square his romantic leanings with a casual relationship. At the time, Tony chalked it up to Steve wanting to try something different. Maybe it even still _was_ that, except with the underlying cause that Steve had pinned his heart onto someone he wouldn’t know if and when he’d ever see again. So why not explore a little, experiment a little, but keep it low-stakes so that he can call it quits immediately and painlessly if he needs to.

That’s pretty much what Steve said, isn’t it? He thought there wasn’t much of a chance that he’d find Barnes so quickly.

+

Tony is somewhat distracted through the sittings with R&D. He gets more distracted further into the afternoon, when his phone buzzes with a message from Steve.

He opens it immediately.

“ _I’m sorry I couldn’t explain more earlier, time is of the essence and I’ve taken a flight out with Sam. But I didn’t want to leave you hanging when I’m not sure how long this may take._

 _When Bucky went underground, I accepted that he didn’t want to be found, and that I might never see him again. But with this new lead there’s a chance we may find him, and if he’d like to stop running and start a new life, I would like to bring him back to the tower, with your permission. I take full responsibility for him. But I understand and accept if you don’t want him there. Whatever your decision, I’ll respect it._ ”

There it is, Steve wants Barnes back in his life. He shacked up with Tony because he thought he’d never have Barnes again. It makes sense. Tony respects that.

Steve must’ve been so angry at the world after losing Barnes a second time, and decided that waiting for him, after all that waiting for Peggy, was too much. Better to have some fun, get some experience under his belt. And Steve _did_ enjoy it, that’s for sure. All those learnings will sure be useful when he finds Barnes and they can catch up.

Ha ha.

Tony’s hand is not shaking as he considers what to type out as his response. Of course he’s glad for Steve. Of course he’s grateful that Steve’s being so contrite and apologetic, as if he fears (wrongly) that Tony’s going to throw a fit. Why would he? He’s cool. He knows how this works.

He puts a reply together: “ _You could’ve just asked me to help you find him. Resources, I have some._ ”

Tony doesn’t expect a quick answer, but one comes through just as he’s about to put his phone away. He opens it.

“ _That wouldn’t have been right_ ,” is Steve’s message.

Anger flares in Tony’s chest, sharp and cleansing. How fragile does Steve think Tony is? Fuck him.

Tony types: “ _Dont be stupid of course I can help. Let me know what you need & yes of course you can bring him to the tower._” Because he’s on a roll, he adds, “ _Plenty of space in your room lol_ ”

Tony shoves his phone into his back pocket and walks. He needs to head back up anyway, and his heart’s not beating fast out of embarrassment and hope, that’s for sure. He’s just restless, that’s all. He isn’t terrified of how Steve will respond to that last joke, be it a confirmation of what Tony thought, or a denial that would keep everything the way it’s been.

His phone buzzes during the journey upstairs. Tony restrains himself until he’s in the privacy of his workshop before he opens it.

“ _Let’s not jump the gun, we haven’t actually found him yet._ ”

Tony deflates. Then he tenses up again, because that’s not a ‘no, of course Barnes isn’t going to immediately move into Steve’s room’.

But so what if he does? Steve can do whatever he wants. Maybe Steve’s deliberately being oblique, because he doesn’t want to antagonize Tony or make it awkward. Maybe Steve thinks Tony will be difficult – look at how carefully he’s worded his messages, where each and every one leaves it wide open for Tony to shut him down.

Steve’s being kind, in a way. He didn’t have to tell Tony at all before he left, let alone send him messages to keep him in the loop. If he doesn’t find Barnes, then Tony would never know where he went, and Steve could keep warming Tony’s bed with Tony none the wiser. On the flipside if Steve _does_ find Barnes, then he could’ve just returned to the tower with Barnes in tow, no warning whatsoever, and let Tony be the bad guy with whatever his reaction would be.

Tony sits on the couch and puts his phone down. He needs to clear his head.

He closes his eyes and thinks of Steve. Because this is about Steve, and what he wants, and what he’s risking here. Tony needs to imagine it from Steve’s point of view, knowing the cards that Tony holds – it’s his building, and it’s from here that Steve leads the Avengers. Tony could make life really fucking awful for Barnes if he wanted.

Steve told Tony about it anyway. He trusts that Tony will prioritize the team, the work, and everything they’ve built together. He may fear the possibility that Tony will destroy everything for his own gratification, but is also hopeful that Tony won’t.

Tony won’t. Why would he? He’s not going to make a scene just because Steve won’t fuck him anymore. Yes, it’s a bummer to no longer be able to get some on the regular, but as far as disappointments go it’s so, _so_ mild. Tony’s not a sex-addict, no matter what so many op-eds have said about him.

There had always been possibility of it ending at any moment. Tony’s known that, even if the idea faded more and more into the background over time. It’s not even really something _ending_ , but a mere folding of reality back into the status quo.

Truly, it’s a relief. Steve made the metaphorical flying leap as soon as he heard about a _possible_ lead on Barnes, and that’s evidence of what’s been churning deep within him all this time, unseen to Tony. Steve’s hope, tamped down and suppressed, finally made loose, reveals the strength of his feelings. To keep sleeping with someone like that would’ve been an even worse idea than Tony initially thought.

This is the best possible turn of events, Tony tells himself.

+

Anyway, Tony’s happy for Steve. He’s grown to appreciate the guy, not just as a teammate but also as a friend, and it’s good if the universe decides to gift him this one thing. Tony can’t imagine being displaced the way that Steve has been and stay sane, and to suddenly be given the chance to reunite with a lost love? Damn.

Tony wants Steve to be happy. It’s important now, and in a more tangible way than it was before. Tony’s gotten a glimpse of Steve up close, of how sweet and tender he can be (in between being a snarky son-of-a-bitch) and that’s only with someone he thinks cool enough for a roll in the hay. What would Steve be like with someone he _actually_ wants to be with? It’d be the biggest shame in the universe if Steve didn’t share that side of himself with someone he really cares about, and who cares about him and can be everything that he needs.

Steve _should_ be happy. Tony’s brain should stop making so much goddamned noise and just focus on that.

Tony snaps out of the deep well of his thoughts, and blinks at the circuit board in front of him.

“What time is it?” Tony says.

“ _Near half-past two, sir_ ,” JARVIS replies.

Steve isn’t back yet. Not that Tony’s waiting up for him. Steve did mention that he wasn’t sure when he’d be returning to the tower, with or without Barnes.

Tony starts to lean back over the circuit board, then changes his mind. He pulls up a screen connected to his phone and, before he can second-guess himself, types out a message.

“ _I’m not kidding give me what you have I can help._ ” Feeling inspired, he adds, “ _I could come to where you are_.”

Tony goes back to work. Time passes, until a beep brings to his attention to an incoming message from Steve. Considering the time, Steve’s probably out of the country.

“ _You don’t have to do that_ ,” is Steve’s reply.

Tony scoffs. Of course Steve would say that. Tony types: “ _I’ll bring Natasha and Clint. Thor, if you need a hard-hitter. From what I’ve heard wrangling the winter soldier could be a challenge even for you._ ”

“ _I don’t want to scare him_ ,” Steve says in the next message.

Tony groans in exasperation. “Call him, J. Now, all the usual locks.”

The workshop’s music drops to almost nothing, and is replaced by a ringing tone. There’s a click, and Steve’s voice immediately fills the room: “ _Tony, I appreciate_ —”

“Look,” Tony cuts in, because Steve’ll work himself into a frenzy if not stopped, “is Barnes the most important person in the world to you or not?”

“ _That’s… what kind of question is that?_ ”

“Do you want to bring him in safely or not? That’s the real question here. We can help you do that. Trust us. Trust _me_.”

There’s a long silence. The band of muscle at Tony’s lungs constrict with a sudden, creeping fear – that Steve will lock him out and whatever camaraderie they’ve built will be gone, swept away to nothing. They may not have been close, but they still had _something_ – that wonderful, breathtaking easiness incidental to the sex. It doesn’t matter if that easiness didn’t mean as much to Steve as it does to Tony; Tony still wants to keep it. If that’s at all possible.

Tony clutches the edge of the workbench, waiting for Steve’s answer. “I won’t do anything bad,” he says. Pleads. “I promise.”

“ _I’m not afraid of you doing anything bad, Tony. Of course I trust you._ ” Steve sighs. “ _All right, I’ll send you what we have. Bring the whole team if you want to. I’ll look into getting a safehouse._ ”

“Okay, good. Keep us posted.”

“ _Got it_.”

Steve hangs up, and Tony immediately opens his inbox to stare at the topmost lines, waiting for Steve’s drop.

Tony can do this. He and the rest of the team will help find Barnes, and Steve will be happy, and everything will be fine. It’s a good deed, the _best_ deed.

If Tony’s stomach is feeling queasy, then that’s his own fucking problem.


	7. Chapter 7

Whenever Tony doesn’t want to think about something, he usually turns to a long-held list of favorite distractions. In recent years that list may have shrunk a great deal, but there’s one item on it that still proves true and reliable is: pour all his energy into work.

To be true, the current situation is an unusual one, where the work (rescue Bucky Barnes) is tied to the very thing that Tony doesn’t want to think about (Steve). But as the night turns to morning and Tony mobilizes the team, he finds that if he focuses really, _really_ hard, and doesn’t think about Barnes as a person but as a goal that needs to be reached, then the distraction does work. Mostly. Kind of.

Tony breaks it down: Wilson’s intel, Steve and Wilson’s fresh recon, and later (with especial thanks to Natasha and Bruce) insight on the choices likely to be made by a fugitive who’s more terrified for other people’s safety over their own. Tony makes a few calls to smooth over their logistics, and Natasha gives Hill a head’s up to hold the fort in case the situation goes south.

Time is of the essence, so they depart in the Quinjet as soon as they’re geared up, and make only one stop along the way to pick up breakfast.

+

Tony’s in the freaking zone. He’s focused and productive, and is pretty sure that they’ll be able to make contact with Barnes in no time. It helps that Barnes seems to _want_ to be found, or at least is trying to lead them to a Hydra cell that he believes they need to take out.

“Coffee,” Bruce says as he slides a mug towards Tony.

“Thanks,” Tony replies.

“You okay?” Bruce says.

“Yep,” Tony says. “Just, ugh, reading. This better be good coffee, I know there was some on the jet.”

The safehouse Steve picked for them is a decently-sized townhouse, which is a little rundown but functional for their purpose. Tony’s set up a work station at the narrow dining table and Natasha is with him, going back and forth between her tablet and a local newspaper. Bruce sets another mug in front of Natasha, and pulls out a chair to join them.

“Anything?” Bruce says.

“The fireworks display is still the best cover,” Natasha says. “Ideal time to make a move. If he is staying at that block, he can be in and out quickly.”

“We just need to narrow it down,” Tony agrees.

There’s a sound of a door opening, and a murmur of greeting from Thor out front. Wilson says something in response, and there’s an exhale of relief as someone – Wilson, likely – drops onto a couch. Meanwhile, another set of footsteps approach the kitchen-dining area.

Tony hunkers down, just as Steve appears around the divider. Steve pushes the hoodie back from his head and scratches the back of his neck.

“We had a good look at the block,” Steve says. “Clint’s still out there, scoping. There’s a lot of blindspots.”

“We’ve worked with worse,” Natasha says.

While they talk it out, Tony keeps browsing the city plans he has on his laptop screen, and only occasionally looks up to acknowledge and/or contribute to the conversation. Tony is being very, very good and not looking at Steve any more than is appropriate. Steve’s worried and tense, but he has it under control, and that’s all Tony needs to know.

They’ve been in Minsk for a half a day now, but with everyone squeezed into the safehouse there’s been no chance of a one-on-one conversation with Steve, which is probably a good thing. Tony just wants to concentrate on the task at hand, because if he doesn’t then he’ll start thinking about things like: how strange it is that Steve’s mere presence in the room puts Tony on edge. It hasn’t been that way for _ages_ , and it’s almost an annoying throwback to when they first met and persisted in seeing the worst in each other.

But this was always the risk, Tony reminds himself. Fucking a teammate always ran the chance of the dynamic turning sour or awkward, and it’s only because it was so much fun for a while there, that Tony got complacent.

If they’re going to keep being Avengers, then Tony needs to swallow this _now_ , and get used to this _now_. After all, he has plenty of experience in pushing through the aftermath of ill-advised fooling around, so it’s just a matter of dusting off those old skills. Besides, it’s not _actually_ a throwback to those early days between him and Steve, because Steve thinks Tony’s a decent guy now. They have each other’s backs now.

It’s different. It’ll work.

“Hey, Tony,” Steve says.

Tony jumps. He realizes that they’re alone in the kitchen now – Natasha and Bruce have fucked off somewhere – and Steve is leaning against the dining table, eyes on him.

“There’s, uh.” Steve clears his throat. “I didn’t want to assume, but I can bunk with Sam if that’s – if you don’t want to…”

Tony blinks in surprise.

“Okay.” Steve nods firmly. “You and Bruce, then – there’s the room one floor up, that should be good. Thor, I think wants the floor of the living room, he said he prefers the space to stretch out.”

“You want to bunk with me?” Tony says.

“I know, it’s not a good idea,” Steve says with a wry smile. Tony’s seen that smile before – calm acceptance papering over disappointment – and it’s _wrong_. The wrongness makes Tony inhale sharply and move without thinking, his hand shooting out to grab Steve’s arm. Steve starts, and looks down at Tony’s fingers, tight around his wrist. “Tony?”

“I…?” Tony doesn’t know what he’s doing. All he knows is that Steve is stressed and upset and trying not to show it, but in that Steve Rogers-style politely rueful way, as if he thinks no one will notice, let alone do anything about it. Tony can’t let that pass, not when he knows what it is. “I’ll bunk with you.” He adds quickly, “It’s fine, don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Oh, okay.” Steve frowns a little. “If you’re sure…?”

Steve doesn’t ask for much. Never has, as far as Tony can tell. This is something Tony can do for him, and he realizes, with sudden confidence that makes the uncertainty of the past 48 hours fade away like fog, that he wants to. So much.

Steve _trusts him._

“I’m sure,” Tony says. He puts a hand on Steve’s waist, just above the line of his belt. The muscle there jumps under his touch, and Steve swallows self-consciously. Tony knows then that it’s the right thing to do.

If Steve wants a last roll in the hay, Tony can totally supply that, and without judgment. It’s not as if the mess in Tony’s head can get any worse, isn’t it? And this way, at least, Tony can sleep with the guy knowing that it’s the last time, and make the most out of it. One last good time memory.

Win-win. Best idea.

+

As soon as they’re in the bedroom together and the door is closed, Tony pushes Steve up against the door to kiss the holy hell out of him.

Tony’s determined to make this fantastic, so he jumps right into setting the tone by mauling Steve’s mouth with deep, hard kisses. He shoves one knee between Steve’s thighs, pressing up against the thickening erection there, and digs his blunt fingernails into the meat of Steve’s waist.

But then Steve touches him. Though he takes Tony’s harsh kisses without difficulty, Steve slides his hands smooth and easy on either side of Tony’s face, cupping him close. His thumbs, light and unhurried, draw lines back and forth along the hair along Tony’s upper lip.

Tony exhales. He eases up and stays there, his lips resting atop Steve’s and no more, as the sureness of Steve’s touch washes over him. Dirty is good, but this makes him pause. Steve’s hands are so gentle when he wants them to be, and his fingertips now draw meaningless shapes against Tony’s cheeks, all the way back to his ears and hinge of his jaw, seemingly just because he can. Tony’s not going to have this in the morning, or again ever after.

It's a funny ol' world, which is about to be split all the way through: before and after, one and zero, allowed and disallowed. Tony needs to remember this moment.

“We have to be quiet,” Steve whispers. “These aren’t your reinforced walls.”

“So thoughtful,” Tony says.

“More like, there’s a time and place to invite revenge from our teammates, and this is neither the time nor place.”

A laugh startles out of Tony. That’s Steve right there – thoughtful and devious in the same breath. The wording may be unfortunate, implying that there could be another time and place, but Tony won’t hold the slip of tongue against him.

“Okay.” Tony makes another mistake, which is to lean back to look right into Steve’s eyes. The blue is clear and focused, but also cautious, as though – as though what? Tony isn’t going to think any less of Steve for wanting some relief. He’d fallen onto easy judgment of the guy before, and made some really stupid leaps. Besides, Tony’s done way, _way_ worse than this, and Steve’s only human.

Tony needs to make this good for him. “Maybe I should fuck you,” he suggests. “You recover faster.”

Steve nods. “Logical.”

“How about…” Tony squeezes Steve’s ass, making him inhale sharply. “How about letting me do you bare?”

“Bare?”

“We get checked out regularly, right, and you can’t get anything, so…”

“Oh! Oh, yes.” Steve’s eagerness makes his eyes glitter. “Yes, we can do that.”

Tony probably wasn’t ever going to get away with making it hard and fast the way he planned, not if they have to keep the volume down. As it is, with the lights dimmed and Tony now semi-aware of every creak and bump in the room, they have to go at it slow and careful. They undress and touch each other, and Tony kneads Steve’s ass until Steve throws the lube bottle with super soldier accuracy at Tony’s forehead in a wordless demand to _get going already_.

They eventually settle with Steve stomach-down on the bed, a fist against his mouth to keep himself quiet. Tony kneels behind Steve’s spread legs, where he swipes the head of his cock against Steve’s well-lubed opening, drawing out the moment.

Tony realizes that he’s excited. Well, yes, of course he’s excited that he gets to be with Steve one more time, which is one time more than he thought he had before. But when he first came up to the room, knowing that this was on the plate, he thought that he would be too agitated to get into it, maybe even enough that he wouldn’t be able to get hard.

Maybe it’s saying something about how attractive Steve is that Tony still wants him. Maybe it’s saying something about how crappy Tony’s been feeling since yesterday that he’s just so fucking _glad_ to be with Steve right now, touching him, making him feel good, and watching the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes. Steve might be leaving him, but Tony still gets this moment.

Tony honestly didn’t realize how shitty he’d been feeling since yesterday. Kinda like how he didn’t realize how much he’d been enjoying himself these past weeks, riding those highs whenever something clicked between him and Steve – such as Steve making a joke just for Tony, or smiling at something Tony said, or being surprised at something Tony did to make him feel good.

It was fun, yes, but Tony was _happy._ That’s what it was.

“You better be quiet for me,” Tony says. “You hear me, Steve?”

Steve nods, but gasps when Tony pushes in. It’s just skin against skin, and the sweet clench of Steve draws Tony inside, inviting him the long slide in until there’s nowhere left to go.

“Oh, geez,” Steve pants.

“Sshhh.” Tony braces his knees against the mattress and starts fucking Steve.

Steve’s tight around Tony, and clenches eagerly with every measured thrust. Tony doesn’t have Steve’s stamina but he knows how to vary it up, to make Steve think he’s going one way when he’s actually going another, hold Steve’s ass open to keep him off-balance enough that he can’t shove back onto Tony’s cock.

It feels incredible. Tony sinks into Steve again and again, the pulsing tightness around his cock pulling him into an easy rhythm. He’s only slightly distracted by the tendons of Steve’s inner thighs, which draw taut from his effort to be still and take the fucking. Steve’s also struggling to be quiet, and eventually shoves his face into a pillow to muffle his whines.

“There you go,” Tony says, petting him. He drinks in the sight of Steve, spread out broad and beautiful, and his skin a canvas for Tony’s greedy hands. The canvas needs filling, though, so Tony leans forward, bending over Steve’s back to pepper it with biting kisses. One to the right of his spine, another to the left, and another slightly lower.

As he does this, Tony has the feverish thought that these bruises won’t even last until morning. But that’s thematically appropriate, isn’t it? There will be no marks on Steve whatsoever, no matter how hard Tony bites him or fucks him. All Tony can do is try his best to make it memorable, and then maybe, just maybe, Steve will remember it, and him, and this brief snippet of time where their lives intersected this way. That may be the only mark Tony can hope to leave on the man.

“You feel amazing, Steve,” Tony whispers. “I hope you feel it, every single inch of me. ‘Cause you sure as hell feel fucking awesome when you squeeze me like that. And the looking, holy shit – you have no idea what you look like when I’m sinking into you right—” Tony presses a thumb against Steve’s stretched rim, making Steve jerk and the bed groan a protest, “—here.”

A handful more thrusts, and Steve makes a half-choked sound and comes. The grip around Tony’s cock is near-punishing, and Tony’s hips stutter without his say-so, fucking Steve through his orgasm until Tony’s cresting over it himself. He grins when he remembers that he’s spilling directly into Steve, his come mixing up with lube for a filthy mess deep inside Steve.

Tony lies there on top of Steve as he catches his breath. Steve makes no protest, so they stay there together, their bodies connected and sticky. There’s muffled footsteps somewhere down below.

The unfamiliar surroundings and the need to be quiet makes the whole scene feel like a secret, or a pocket of space and time that’s removed from the rest of their reality. Which is exactly what it is, because tomorrow, depending on their success, Steve may get what he wants, and Tony will have to watch him get what he wants.

What _does_ Steve want, though? Tony doesn’t know anything about that beyond the superficial, and that’s because he doesn’t really know Steve. They fell into an understanding, but that understanding could only exist because they made no greater demands of each other. That’s how the ephemeral arrangement worked, and that’s why they could get along. They could be who they were and do what they wanted to do, because they blocked the incursion of anything else more complicated.

Tony’s done with complicated. He doesn’t have time for it, and the very thought of it exhausts him. He’d dreaded the idea of Steve asking for more, and would’ve wiggled away from Steve at the first sign of it. Of course, the irony now is that Steve’s the one who’s leaving him.

To be fair, Steve’s not _actually_ leaving him, because they weren’t together to begin with. They’re still going to see and annoy each other all the time in a team capacity.

Yet Tony knows how it feels like when people leave him, and this is it. The stomach-churning anxiety, a constant second-guessing of what he could have done differently to stop it from happening, and insisting to himself that he’s perfectly fine with everything in the hopes that by saying it, it’d become true. The power of positive thinking, or some shit like that.

Tony shakes his head, as if that would rattle those intrusive thoughts free from his skull. He carefully pulls out of Steve, and puts put a hand over Steve’s ass, as though he’d be able to feel his come still inside him. An unkind thought tickles at him: there will be no evidence on Steve whenever he and Barnes decide to do… whatever… but Tony still got here first. Whatever little accomplishment that may be.

There’s a rustle when Steve turns over to look at Tony. He’s beautifully flushed, and his hair a mess. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says.

“You’re worried, that’s normal.” Tony moves to the edge of the bed and swings his legs down so his feet touch the floor. “You don’t want anything bad to happen to Barnes.”

“You’re important to me, too. I mean, the team – everyone, of course. Bucky is, yes, but I appreciate—”

“Relax.” Tony manages to pat Steve’s hip, but that’s the most he can do before he has to turn away and make for the bathroom with careful, unhurried steps. “We’ll see it through.”

The shower is very much not big enough for two, so Tony has a brisk one. Unfortunately, the sex-related euphoria seems to get washed down the drain with all the other grime Tony scrubs off of him. He finds himself imagining with increasing vividness what could happen tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. Seeing Steve happy – that should be good enough, right? Tony can handle that, right?

Steve loves Barnes so much that he’d jumped headfirst at the mere whisper of a chance to find him. No hesitation, no doubts. The odds of success were not great, but he went anyway, because mountains cannot stop Steve when the cause is true.

There’s no competing with a love that spans generations. To be honest, Tony doesn’t even want to. That isn’t for him, and that isn’t who he is. Just the idea of it makes him anxious and jittery. But for a while there, he’d had something _else_ with Steve – something quiet and easy. It wasn’t epic or significant, but it was theirs, and it meant something.

Maybe it could’ve become something else, over time. Maybe Tony would’ve _liked_ it to become something else.

All Tony knows is that he wouldn’t have ended it so quickly, if it were his choice.

Tony comes out of the shower dried and changed. Steve’s sitting up on the bed, buck naked and frowning at something at his phone. The sight alone has Tony’s heart doing a fucking double-tap in his chest, and he wonders: what would it be like, if Steve jumped headfirst because of Tony? _For_ Tony, specifically, and not just because they’re on the same team, or because Steve cares about everyone.

Steve starts to turn, so Tony quickly puts the small towel over his head, rubbing his hair dry and shielding his face from view, in case Steve sees too much.

“There’s still warm water?” Steve says.

“Yep,” Tony says, moving past him for his bag. He doesn’t say: _Could you have ever, theoretically, and under specific circumstances, picked me instead?_

Steve disappears into the bathroom and closes the door, allowing Tony to relax a smidge.

He goes to the bed and, upon sitting it, realizes that Steve’s changed the sheets. Even after a really long day, and being stressed throughout said day, and getting fucked at the end of the day, Steve still managed to change the sheets. Part of that is of course due the serum, but it’s also Steve. Tony runs a hand over the sheets and smiles.

The knowledge settles over Tony like a cloak: he’s compromised.

He’s compromised for Steve, and it’s his own damn fault. A few days ago he would’ve told himself that the jolt that Steve’s smile gives him these days was just a trick of the neurons, and Tony would believe it in order to spare himself the mortification of self-reflection. But now that there’s nothing in their future but a brick wall, he can at last recognize the burn inside him for what it is.

Well, that’s all right then.

Tony goes under the covers. He hasn’t had much sleep over the past two days, but he’s still awake when Steve comes out of the bathroom and joins him. Steve slides in close enough that his body heat travels the distance between them under the covers.

It’s really something, to sleep in the same bed as a man that you want but don’t actually have. Tony ate off the tree and now knows his naked stupidity, and all that jazz. But like all the terrible mistakes Tony’s amassed in his life, he’ll learn to live with this one, too.


	8. Chapter 8

They find Barnes. To be more accurate, they find the three Hydra members who are hunting Barnes, and then Barnes himself.

Tony isn’t in active play through most of it. The Iron Man suit is too conspicuous, so he provides remote support with Bruce, both of them listening through comms and watching via remote cameras. But there is a point when the fight bursts out into the open, and with so many civilians in the open space, Tony suits up and heads out.

Crowd control is trickier than it looks. It certainly keeps Tony occupied while the rest of the team chase their mark.

“ _The mud man, he’s fallen_ ,” Thor says into comms. “ _I wasn’t able to stop him._ ”

“ _Get the other one_ ,” Natasha orders. “ _Sam, he’s right on you_.”

“ _I got it, I got it_ ,” Sam says. “ _Where’s Cap?_ ”

“ _Taking out the last one after our mark_ ,” Bruce says. “ _Right by the – the station? Is that a station? Tony, we got some_ —”

“I see it,” Tony says.

So it is that once Tony’s secured the site, he happens to be at just the right spot, hovering some thirty feet up in the air while Steve runs across the asphalt. Steve’s battle mode has been put on hold, and he’s holding his hands out in front of him, placating.

Barnes has his back to Steve. His body language is of a man about to flee, except he’s not doing the actual fleeing because of whatever Steve’s currently saying to him. Steve turned off his mic a couple of minutes ago, but Tony’s physically close enough that he could get JARVIS to open up the suit’s audio receivers if he wanted to listen in. He doesn’t.

Steve takes a step towards Barnes. Still talking, he removes his helmet and holds it to his side. Barnes half-turns towards Steve and says something in return; Steve’s shoulders shift the way they do with a small laugh.

“ _Tony, what’s going on?”_ Natasha says.

“Steve’s closing in on the mark,” Tony says. “Trying not to spook him. How’s the others?”

“ _We got it locked_ ,” Natasha replies. “ _Clint, sweep it up._ ”

By now Steve’s taken enough steps to close the distance between him and Barnes. He puts a hand on Barnes’ shoulder, but quickly retracts it when Barnes stiffens. Steve says something else, and Barnes looks up in Tony’s direction. Either Steve just told Barnes that they’ve got him cornered (unlikely) or he’s trying to convince Barnes that Tony isn’t angry at him for what Hydra made him do (much more plausible).

Barnes says something and shakes his head. Steve approaches him again, and this time Barnes lets him.

Steve draws Barnes in, and Tony jerks back on his rocket-boots until he realizes that Steve’s movement has led into a hug instead of a kiss. Not that that’s much better on Tony’s poor nerves.

“ _Sir_ ,” JARVIS says. “ _Your heartrate just spiked_.”

“’Kay,” Tony mutters.

Steve clings to Barnes, who seems unsure on how to respond. One of Steve’s hands press against the back of Barnes’ head, a squeeze of affirmation or comfort. There should be fucking violins playing at the display, a reunion across literal fucking decades. It’s the best time for Tony to realize that Steve’s never hugged him. Sure, they’ve held each other and lied down on top of each other, but they’ve never shared a hug for the sake of it, away from the promise or gratitude for sex.

Tony realizes, with sudden clarity, that he can’t do this.

He thought that because Steve’s happiness was paramount, he could watch Steve be with Barnes. But while Tony may command himself to think and act a specific way, and has elucidated the perfectly logical reasons of why he _should_ think and act a specific way, theory doesn’t take into account messy actuality. Tony is somewhat better these days at managing his emotional excesses for the sake of the greater good, but here lies a limit.

Steve can have his happiness – Tony will never ever begrudge him that, and in fact wishes him everything in the universe he. But Tony just isn’t a good enough person to witness it without tasting bile. For a while, anyway. The ache will fade, as all things do. One day Tony’ll be able to laugh about it, he’s pretty sure.

For now, though, Tony takes a breath through a too-tight throat, and turns away from the historical scene below.

“I heard clean up,” Tony says into comms. “Cap’s got it covered, so what has anyone got for me?”

“ _Would appreciate an assist here_ ,” Clint says. “ _There’s like a ten-car pile-up, north-west, see it?_ ”

“Yep, I’m on it.” Tony flies off, glad for something to do while he thinks.

+

Tony had two excuses worked out.

First, he should stay in Minsk to deal with the local authorities and city clean-up. However, Hill’s got that covered, and flew over while they were busy playing hide-and-seek in the park.

Second excuse was that he should fly back to New York ASAP because he needs to get back, like right now, before they’ve even finished ground clean-up and SHIELD has arrived to take the surviving Hydra agent into custody. But as soon as Tony mentioned that over comms, Steve (his mic back on) agreed that some of them should get back to the tower quickly – namely Barnes, who is technically still a fugitive – while they figure how to deal with the thorny legal mess around him.

Tony does have a tendency to self-sabotage.

This is how Tony ends up in a Quinjet with three other people: Clint, who’s piloting, plus Steve and Barnes, who are sitting on the bench against the bulkhead. Tony’s not sitting at all, because he’s still in the suit – helmet on, faceplate up, because he’s not entirely an idiot.

Tony could have JARVIS pull up something in the HUD for him to focus on instead – the news, maybe, or the latest string of emails from Pepper that he hasn’t read yet. But the universe has been a real goddamned prick thus far, and if it wants Tony to sit in the same medium-sized vehicle with the very same two people he was _this_ close to flying away at supersonic speed from, then he’s going to be a fucking masochist and look at them.

Barnes seems to be rocking an unwashed hobo look, but upon closer study he’s actually taken good care of his clothing and appearance. It’s just the combo of shaggy hair, five o’clock shadow and downcast expression that trick the brain into thinking him unkempt and, if one’s not careful, harmless. Tony can see hints of the classic handsomeness of those old newsreels, if he squints. There’s no sign of his metal arm, hidden as it is under long sleeves and out-of-season gloves.

Meanwhile, there’s Steve, who has his hands clasped together on his knees and is sneaking occasional glances sideways at Barnes. There’s tension in the air – hinting at unfinished conversations and whatever else that’s created the few feet of empty space between the two men on the bench. It seems likely that they – one or the other, or both? – haven’t expressed their feelings yet, and are waiting for a private moment to get all of that out.

“You sure don’t want the team to pick up your stuff?” Steve says.

“Got everything with me,” Barnes says, referring to the backpack he still hasn’t taken off.

“Except a passport,” Clint says from up front.

“Clint,” Steve says in a warning tone.

“I have a passport,” Barnes says, almost petulantly. A fake one, but that goes without saying.

“It’s gonna be a field day, is all I’m saying,” Clint says. “Fury knows you’re bringing him in, right?”

“I’m sure Natasha’s told him by now,” Steve says. “Tony?”

Tony’s head jerks up.

“I might have to head back to tidy up, if Maria and Natasha face any problems,” Steve says. “People are going to notice we left the scene quickly. The second jet, is it done with maintenance?”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “She’s ready, whenever you want.”

“Okay, good.” Steve rubs a hand against his grimy forehead. “The tower’s secure. All’s left is to clear our schedule the next few days.”

“You can dump me in a storage cabinet, I’ll be fine,” Barnes says.

“You’re not going into a storage cabinet,” Steve says. “Tony, you said you’re in a hurry. Where are you going?”

“West,” Tony says.

“West… where?” Steve prompts.

“West. I still have non-Avengers work, you know.”

“Right, besides being a mascot,” Steve says.

Tony doesn’t reply.

“That’s…” Steve exhales. “Sorry, it’s – you once called yourself a mascot, for SI?”

“Did I? Don’t remember,” Tony says.

Barnes seems to wilt and tense up at the same time. Steve notices it, and says quickly, “Right, didn’t get to introduce you properly—”

“I know who he is,” Tony says. The other love of Steve’s life; the one he got back, to make up for the one that moved on. Not only a childhood friend, but a displaced super soldier _just like Steve_ , and thus not only knows everything about Steve that’s worth knowing, but also understands everything he’s been through, and can keep up with him better than anyone else on Earth. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

Steve stands up. He moves with deliberate slowness, masking caution into casualness as he moves down the jet towards Tony.

Tony knows he’s being a jerk, but he can’t stop himself at this anymore than he can stop himself from feeling nauseous due to being in the same space with Steve and Barnes. Once they start necking in front of him, who knows how awful Tony’s going to get.

“Tony,” Steve says, keeping his voice for Tony’s ears only, “if you’re angry, be angry with me. Don’t take it out on him.”

“I’m not angry,” Tony says.

Steve gives him a look. The suit’s cameras translate it perfectly for the HUD – polite, skeptical and knowing. But Steve’s not as right as he thinks he is, because Tony isn’t _angry_ angry. He’s not going to hurt Barnes, or Steve, or anyone who isn’t himself.

“It’s okay to be angry, Tony,” Steve says quietly.

Tony doesn’t reply. He knows Steve’s waiting for one, and especially a sign on which way the conversation’s going to go and how Steve has to manage it. But Tony doesn’t have anything for him, not a quip, nor a deflecting joke, nor even a straightforward scathing insult.

Tony just doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to have slept with Steve, and gotten a taste of what it’s like to have Steve on his side. He doesn’t want the growing realization that maybe what he was _really_ after all this time was a low-stakes relationship with the option of teeny tiny upgrades if/when he was ready for them, with the understanding that he might never be ready, and that was okay.

The awkward silence stretches. Tony has no inclination whatsoever to fill it up.

Steve exhales.

Thank fuck Steve can’t see his face, because if he did then he might ask why Tony’s staring at him, and Tony’s mouth might betray him by spitting out: _Stop trying to be kind, it’s really fucking annoying._ Steve should just sit there with Barnes, and give Tony the peace and quiet to reorient himself to the new state of the world.

Steve gives up with a soft exhale, and returns to the bench.

Tony almost wishes Steve would sit right next to Barnes and hold his hand or something, because maybe that would give Tony the excuse to kick the bay door open and fly out of there like the drama queen he is.

+

They land at the tower. Tony goes off to his workshop without a word to anyone, and spends no more than twenty minutes putting his essentials together before getting the hell out of dodge.

He doesn’t need to know what Steve has planned for Barnes, or where Barnes is going to stay, or what the rest of the team is going to do. He keeps a channel open to Hill, because clean-up and international relations are still very much his purview, and he sends one message to Bruce to let him know he’ll be away, because he’s not a complete heel. Everything on the homefront can be handled by the others, and they’re welcome to it.

Tony flees New York. West, he told Steve, so west he’ll go.

+

The old Malibu house may be gone, but Tony still has some properties on the west coast, and picks the one that’s easiest for an Iron Man suit to land and take off. He notifies Pepper, upgrades the servers so he can remotely access the tower workshop in near real-time, and pulls up the backlog of non-superhero projects that he needs to catch up on.

Tony’s just taking a breather. He probably even needs one, considering the non-stop stretch he’s been on since the dust settled after the Battle of New York. He’ll go back to the Avengers soon enough, but for now, he rests.

Out here, Tony doesn’t have to watch Steve rebuild his reconnection with Barnes. Barnes may have not leapt right into Steve’s arms, but that’s probably just because he has a wall of trauma that needs scaling. Steve’s definitely working on that right now, and with all of his usual bull-headed persistence.

+

The day after Tony arrives in LA, he receives a single message from Steve. “ _Hi Tony, hope everything’s okay where you are, and the work isn’t too much. There’s some Hydra leads worth looking into, but we have it covered for now._ ”

Tony almost doesn’t answer, but about ten hours after receiving it decides to reply with, “ _Ok got it_.” And he leaves it at that.

The day after, there’s another single message from Steve. “ _Hi Tony, maybe you heard from Maria that there was a problem with leakage from tower’s main arc reactor, but we’ve got it handled. Just wanted to let you know._ ”

The day after that, another message: “ _Hi Tony, you probably received the notice from Minsk about the clean-up bill. We’re discussing it with SHIELD, and if there’s any complications we’ll let you know, but don’t let it disrupt your work._ ”

The day after that, “ _Hi Tony, sorry to bother you, but we’re supposed to be testing the half-size hellicarriers with Fury’s team in a few days, is that still on?_ ”

Tony hadn’t bothered to answer the other messages, but he does to this one: “ _I’ll get in touch with Fury, but you guys should go ahead._ ”

Steve replies, “ _Got it, thanks._ ”

Tony stares at the message, appalled that his poor ticker would skip at three fucking words of fucking nothing. He immediately closes his inbox so he won’t have to see any of it, or any of Steve’s other messages.

Tony is enjoying his break. Yes, he’s lonely, but he’s been lonely before, and loneliness is just like riding a bike, it’ll come back to him. There’s also the usefulness that’s inherent to staying away from Steve (aside from avoiding all the ponderous details of his courtship of Barnes) which is that it’ll make Tony become used to a Steve-free existence.

The next day, Steve still sends his one message. “ _Hi, Tony. I tried cooking today, following one of Bruce’s recipes. Didn’t turn out very well. Thor finished the whole thing, though, so it wasn’t a complete waste._ ” Attached to the message is a photo of a baked dish, slightly burned.

Tony stares at the message, perplexed. The others didn’t require a reply, and this one even less so.

The day after that, Steve’s message goes: “ _Hi, Tony. The windows were all cleaned today. I had coffee with the cleaners and they were very friendly_.” There’s a photo of a vertical drop from one of the windows of the party floor, with a cleaner’s platform halfway into the shot.

The day after that, Steve sends: “ _Hi, Tony. Look at that. Almost makes me wish my room was on the roof._ ” He’s attached a very long panoramic photo of a beautiful gold-orange sunset, as seen from the roof the tower.

Tony moves the photo to one of his larger screens and blows it up. It’s a full 360-degree view, and Tony turns it image slowly, following the detail from one angle to another. Although Steve isn’t visible in the photo itself, his shadow is on the floor at one spot. Tony leaves the image up on the screen just to look at it, and his eye keeps coming back to that shadow.

Steve stood there and rotated on a point to take that photo. The simple mental image makes Tony want to smile. Would Steve have gotten it right the first time, or would he have had to do it again and again? If he did have to do it again, how frustrated would he have been, and would he have been frustrated enough to do that grumble-cursing under his breath he sometimes does?

Tony’s chest clenches. This strange, empty house feels even emptier right now, and he grabs his phone to open a reply box. He types: “ _Just get one of those fancy camping tents and put it up there, voila your second room._ ”

A couple of minutes later, Steve replies: “ _Wind hazard, though. From the jets and multiple people who can fly._ ”

Tony responds: “ _just makes it a fun challenge_.”

“ _Guess it would be. Might investigate some camping shops then._ ”

Tony makes a face. “ _SHIELD has military-grade ware, just steal it from them. Oh sorry, ~*ask really nicely*~_?

“ _Or barter trade. Pretty sure Fury was eyeing some of your camo glass_.”

“ _NO don’t you DARE. Trade him one of Natasha’s rocket launchers_.”

“ _Seems risky. By the way do you know if you’ll be coming back any time soon? Nothing urgent, just wondering. Clint does hate those rocket launchers, though, so you might be onto something._ ”

Tony puts his phone down on the knee and stares at screen. He presses his hands to his mouth, his stomach doing that topsy-turvy thing it does when he just _knows_ he’s about to do something really, really stupid and really, really avoidable.

Nothing’s really changed. Barnes is still at the tower. Steve is still with him. Tony will still feel queasy if he sees both of them in his line of sight at the same time. Absence has not, in fact, made the prospect of that any easier to bear. It rather seems to be the opposite, because a few days of not being able to bother Steve whenever he wants is really bringing it home that Tony might have completely fallen for the guy, like a fucking chump.

What galls the most is how it snuck up on him. He doesn’t know when it happened, or what tipped him over. It wasn’t there at all, and then it’s all he can think about, his brain stuffed to the brim with Very Important Thoughts About Steve.

Is there a rule somewhere that it only becomes easier to recognize that you’ve developed feelings for someone once you know you can never have them? Like, because you know for sure that nothing can happen, the veil of plausible deniability falls away – you can never act on it, so you’re free of the burden of having to decipher it, or deciding if you should act on it at all.

Meanwhile, the feeling sits in you. Existing and taunting you.

But none of that is Steve’s fault. He didn’t do anything wrong.

The truth is that despite being thousands of miles away, and in love with someone else, Steve is still able to make Tony smile like a goddamned idiot. Plain pixels on a screen shouldn’t give Tony a rush, but there it is. Steve still cares about Tony, and isn’t that what he wanted? The quiet house with its utter lack of Steve is fucking stifling, and Tony needs—

He types: “ _Might be coming back tomorrow. Will see if everything wraps up here._ ”

“ _Okay, thanks. The tower’s still in one piece, in case you were worried._ ”

“ _I wasnt but now I AM thanks”_

_“Sorry :)”_

Tony gasps, and tosses his phone away as if burned.

He shouldn’t go back so soon, not when he’s still a mess. But he was so focused on the bad stuff that he’d lost sight of the good. Steve will be with Barnes, but Tony still gets his friendship. Hell, Tony’s _earned_ it, hasn’t he, at this point? He’d let Steve go without making a scene, and that surely counts for something. If he can focus on that, then maybe he’ll be able to take everything else.

Tony’s going back.


	9. Chapter 9

During the trip back to New York, Tony flip-flops between being confident that he can do this, and bracing for the disaster of him _not_ being able to do this.

In his head he plays out various possible scenarios where he makes a complete fool of himself. He does this not because he’s a complete masochist, but in order to figure out the best ways to deal with the fallout in order to make sure that no one has to leave the tower: not him, nor Steve, nor Barnes (assuming that he wants to hang around).

The result of all this brainstorming is that by the time Tony arrives at the tower, he’s not at his mental best. There’s only so much energy left to hold his spine taut as he takes that first step out of the elevator onto the common floor.

Steve’s there. Standing over the back of the couch with a mug in hand, he turns at Tony’s arrival. He doesn’t smile, exactly, but his eyes do light up subtly, the way they sometimes do. As if Steve’s glad that Tony’s back.

 _Well, fuck_ , Tony thinks to himself. His heart thumps extra hard in his chest, just in case he didn’t get the memo.

The rest of the team is here, too, though Tony admittedly has to tear his eyes away from Steve to acknowledge their presence. Natasha, and Thor are on the couch, Clint is on the floor, and Bruce is standing in the small pantry off to the side. Barnes is there, too, in the other seat by the couch.

Bruce comes in approach, saying, “Hey, you’re back. Smooth flight, I hope?”

“Can’t complain,” Tony says. At the corner of his eye he registers Steve shifting, turning bodily in their direction. “Had worse, anyway.”

“Thor brought some tea from…” Bruce looks down at his mug and wrinkles his nose. “A place I would no doubt mispronounce, if I could remember the name. Want to try?”

“Thanks, but, uh…” Tony feels his shoulders inch up; Steve’s taken two steps towards them and, though there’s a decent chance he’s just going to the bathroom or something, Tony’s not ready. “I’m beat, I’m seriously about to crash, better not waste it. I’ll try later, though.”

“Okay,” Bruce says.

Tony skedaddles on very light feet, away from the common area.

Once upstairs and in the safety of his room, Tony exhales. The relief lasts for all of two seconds, because his brain supplies him with a high-definition memory render of what he got up to the last time he was here, and who with. In fact, Tony’s inner eye overlays Steve everywhere – on the bed, yes, but also at the window (where he’d admired the view some mornings), the closet (where he’d been baffled on why Tony needed so many jackets and shoes that were only a tiny shade different from each the other), and the bathroom (where he’d tripped once and was very embarrassed about it).

“Right,” Tony says into the empty space. “Dammit.”

Maybe the morning will bring a fresh batch of optimism.

Tony showers and prepares for bed. As he crawls under the covers, he grabs his phone automatically, the usual habit before sleep being to read an article or two to wind down.

There’s a message from Steve, sent a few minutes ago. “ _Do you want company?_ ”

Tony stares at the screen. The words make no sense on their own, so he must be more tired than he thought.

It’s a joke, of course, and Tony’s just too keyed up to understand it at the moment. But it’s most definitely a joke, because Steve is never unkind to the point of cruelty. Tony cycles through: confusion, then irritation at himself for not getting the punchline, followed by irritation at Steve for thinking this was a clever way to check in on Tony. He pulls open a reply box before he can think it through.

“ _lol sure why do you know anyone?_ ”

Tony hits send and tosses his phone to the side table. He pulls the covers almost all the way over his head and closes his eyes.

He drifts off.

He blinks back awake, because someone’s in the room. No alarms have gone off – not from JARVIS, nor in Tony’s subconscious – so he’s not too fussed. He squints in the dim light and makes out the shape of Steve – tall and broad, his shoulders recognizable even in shadow – settling down on his side of the bed. Tony huffs through his nose and closes his eyes again.

Wait.

Tony jolts up. He’s wide awake now, and clutches the covers to his chest. Steve freezes, too – his eyes wide and his arm stilled in the motion of pulling the covers over his legs.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Tony says.

“I…” Steve fumbles for his phone, which he holds out in front of him. “You replied, so I thought—”

“What? No!” Tony scrambles out of bed. “What the fuck, Steve!”

Steve mirrors him in getting out of the bed, which is a good thing but also a bad thing because Steve’s shirtless and in shorts, i.e. his usual sleeping gear. But Tony isn’t distracted by the pecs for once; he’s _horrified_ , because why would Steve be here? Why would he expect that he could…?

“No, that’s not—” Tony shakes his head rapidly. “I don’t care what you agreed with – but I don’t – okay, I’m not, I’m not small-minded okay, free love, yes, whatever, but it’s – you can’t just _do_ that, Steve, you need to _ask_ me and I, I don’t—”

Tony realizes he’s gasping for air. Heart pounding, lungs tight, and it’s not helping that Steve seems as surprised and confused as he is.

Did Steve think he could have both of them at the same time? A reprise of whatever Steve had with Peggy and Barnes back in the day, is that it? Tony feels dizzy at the implication that Steve might just want to continue fucking Tony while being with Barnes. Tony’s reputation precedes him again then, maybe, but surely Steve would’ve asked properly first, that’s the kind of thing he does, right?

Nausea pinches at Tony’s stomach. Steve’s face twists in worry and he starts to take a step towards him, but Tony holds his hands up. Repulsors out, sans the repulsors. Steve stills.

“No,” Tony says firmly. “I don’t want to do that.” The words seem to have trouble getting through his throat. “Isn’t it enough that you have him back?”

“What?” Steve says.

“Barnes! Your – your Barnes, he’s back, you wanted that and I did it! Aren’t you happy?” Tony thinks he might be shouting, which is bad enough, but now his breath’s coming out in choked, wheezing gasps. He can’t help it, not with Steve looking at him with wide, lost eyes like he has no fucking clue what this past week has been for Tony, which might have been true until this very second when Tony had to ruin everything.

“I gave him back to you, isn’t that enough?” Tony asks. “I don’t understand what else you want from me, because this is it, this is all I’ve got. I’ve got nothing left for you.”

Well, shit, Tony’s crying now, too. He’s not sobbing, at least, but there’s nothing he can do to stop the spill of hot, humiliating tears down his cheeks.

“Tony, no,” Steve whispers.

“Shut up, shut up, it’s nothing!” Tony yells. “It’s nothing, I’m just being ridiculous, you know me! It’s not like I _like_ you, or anything like that, because that’d be stupid. We’re just having some fun, that’s all, no promises, no getting attached, it’s all clear, just like you said! Easy peasy one-two-treasy. I totally don’t miss you at all.”

“Tony, it’s not like that with Bucky,” Steve says.

“You don’t need to explain anything to me—”

“It’s _not_ like that with Bucky,” Steve says, louder this time. “He’s my best friend. You’re something very different to me.”

Tony shakes his head rapidly. Steve’s words try to sink in, but cannot land. “No, you love him. You love him, and wanted him back.”

“All true, but I love him the way you love Rhodey.” Steve speaks slowly and clearly, and his eyes stay locked on Tony’s through each syllable. As though Steve’s willing Tony to pay attention. “Just like Rhodey is to you.”

“No, you said…” Tony swallows and looks away, thinking. “You said you were sorry for not telling me about Barnes. That you’d go back to Barnes once you found him.”

“ _No_ ,” Steve breathes, horror in his voice. “No, Tony, not like that. I was sorry that I didn’t tell you I was _looking_ for Bucky. I promised that I wouldn’t keep anything from you anymore, and it slipped my mind, that Sam was keeping an ear out for him, and that you’d have to meet the man that killed your…”

Tony looks at him. Steve’s much closer now, having moved around the bed while Tony was scouring his recent, previously perfectly-analyzed memories. He’s holding himself very, very still, but the entirety of his body language is of a man on approach, and trying to reach a goal. Steve’s eyes are alert and scrutinizing, which is exactly what Tony needs when he’s sticky and snotty from having completely embarrassed himself.

“ _That’s_ why you were acting so fishy?” Tony says in disbelief.

“I didn’t want to…” Steve flinches, realization drawing his face tight. “I’m not supposed to hurt you. Did it anyway, apparently.” His gaze sharpens, and his jaw is resolute. “I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s not…” Tony doesn’t want an apology. None of this was about wanting an apology, regardless of what Steve did or didn’t do. An apology doesn’t satisfy or soothe, and it doesn’t untangle the knots in Tony’s head. He tries to speak, though since there’s nothing he actually wants to say, it comes out as an ugly choking sound.

“Hey,” Steve says softly. He reaches out for Tony, though his hand hovers in the air by Tony’s arm. Worry and comfort permeate Steve’s being, and Tony feels himself being drawn in. Inevitable, like gravity.

Tony completes the motion by grabbing Steve’s arm. He gasps at the touch – Steve’s here and solid and real – and then he’s falling in against Steve, who wraps his arms around him.

There’s a second where, once Tony realizes that it’s a hug, that he stiffens. If Steve thinks he needs a hug then that just confirms Tony’s humiliation – Tony made a mistake and said too much, and now Steve thinks Tony’s an even bigger idiot from that time when they first met.

But… it’s a hug, from Steve. Tony wanted it, and it feels _good_. Better than he thought, even. Steve is solid and strong, no awkwardness or hesitation anywhere in the squeeze of his arms around Tony. One of his hands is even stroking Tony slowly between his shoulder blades, and this can’t be the touch of a man who feels sorry for Tony. Right? Tony may have misunderstood the other thing, but he’s not wrong again here, right?

“It’s okay.” Steve’s voice is so soft that it’s almost a caress against Tony’s cheek. “Let it out, Tony, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

The admission hits hard. A knot twists in Tony’s diaphragm, squeezing his breath, and he gasps. The gasp is followed by another, and another, and then he’s trembling and hiccupping against Steve’s neck. He might also be crying a little bit more, which is all sorts of gross, but that’s okay because Steve said it’s okay. Tony isn’t sure he entirely believes that, but he wants to. _God_ , he wants to.

They stay like that for a long time, but Steve keeps petting him, and eventually moves into a light rocking motion, having them sway together in what should feel like a mockery of dance, but isn’t. Tony’s still confused, because he was so _sure_ about Steve and Barnes, and he needs to comb over every detail properly, but his brain feels like mush. It’s just nice and relaxing to be here, and Tony’s breaths slowly even out.

As for Steve, he doesn’t seem bothered or bored at all. It’s as if he wants to be here and nowhere else, despite Tony’s being a headcase at the moment.

“I’m tired.” Tony has to whisper it, because his throat’s somewhat clogged.

“Okay. Do you want to lie down?”

“Yeah.”

They move to the bed. Tony feels like he’s moving through molasses, all his limbs heavy and uncooperative. Thank goodness for Steve then, because he guides Tony to sit, hands him some Kleenex for his face, and then tucks the comforter over him when he lies down.

“Do you want me to stay?” Steve says.

It feels impossible to scrape an answer out of his throat. Tony feels raw, and lacking the fortitude to even _look_ at Steve right now.

“Okay,” Steve says gently. He starts to get up, but Tony inhales sharply. Steve turns back, and puts a hand on Tony’s wrist, testing.

Tony turns his hand into Steve’s, their fingers curling together.

Steve nods. This time when he gets up it’s to go around to the other side of the bed and slip under the covers. Relieved at not having to be alone, Tony closes his eyes.

Then Tony rolls over and, eyes still closed out of self-defense, scoots over towards Steve. His intention is just to get close enough so that he can press his face against Steve’s shoulder or something like that, but Steve immediately lifts an arm, making space for Tony to tuck himself on Steve’s chest.

And it’s perfect.

+

Waking up is a chore. Tony feels weighted down by dread before he even remembers why he feels this way. He blinks in the dim light, grumbles half-formed words against the pillow, and closes his eyes again. Someone’s in bed with him.

Tony rolls over. Steve’s on the other side of the bed, but he’s sitting up against the headboard and has a shirt on, which is nice of him. He’s also reading a book, and if Tony were more awake he’d tell Steve that he’s going to spoil his eyes if he keeps reading without proper light.

Steve glances over at Tony and their eyes meet. Steve’s expression is mild and relaxed, and it invites Tony to be relaxed with him. It’s just another morning, and it’s all cool, everyone’s cool.

Tony rubs a hand over his face and gets up to zombie his way to the bathroom. Last night’s scene feels like a fever dream. What are the chances that Tony can bluster his way through the morning – and the rest of their intersecting lives, however long that may be – the way he usually does?

When Tony returns to the bedroom, Steve’s still on the bed but he’s moved from his spot, and there’s a breakfast tray on the bed with him. Tony can’t remember there being one in the room earlier, though he wasn’t really paying attention.

“Toast,” Steve says. “Coffee. Scones, though they’re from yesterday so they might be a little off.”

Tony sits on the bed, legs crossed, and partakes of the coffee and half a scone. Steve eats, too, though there’s a sense about him that he’s not really hungry.

“I really like you, Tony,” Steve says.

It’s a good thing Tony’s mug is already half-empty, because he would’ve spilled his coffee otherwise. Tony fumbles, then frowns at himself for fumbling. “You can’t just say shit like that, Steve.”

“I just did, so evidently I can. I should’ve said it sooner.”

“Wouldn’t have wanted you to,” Tony snaps. “That’s not what we were about.”

“Then, yes. But now it’s—”

“Nope,” Tony says crisply.

Steve exhales. “Why not?”

“Because if you say things like that, it’s going to give me ideas. I’m going to be…” Tony trails off, but Steve’s still watching him expectantly. “I’m going to get clingy.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“I’m going to get needy and pushy and – and _expect_ things from you.”

“I’m very okay with that.” When Tony frowns at him, Steve nods. “If you can change your mind, so can I.”

“When? When did you change your mind? Last night?” Tony pushes.

“A few days ago,” Steve says simply. “When you left, I thought that that was it. I’d screwed up, and asked too much from you to let Bucky come to the tower. When you didn’t reply to my messages, all I could think was… I’d be happy to never sleep with you again, as long we could still talk.” He swallows. “And be friends. That’s more important.”

“Wow,” Tony says, injecting dryness into the word even as something in his chest unfurls in glee. “More important than fucking.”

“Yes, I think so,” Steve says. “I didn’t realize until then, how much I’d been taking for granted. I was so worried about upsetting you about Bucky, that it didn’t register that I might lose everything at once.”

“Not much to lose.”

“You know how much it pisses me off when you say things like that about yourself?” Steve says, his voice not rising even the slightest. “Because it does.”

Tony chews on a piece of toast, to give himself something to do.

“And here I thought I was getting better at reading you,” Steve says ruefully. “Turns out I have a long way to go. I knew you were upset, but I was wrong about the why.”

“Eh,” Tony says with a shrug. “I leapt to a wrong conclusion, it happens.”

“That night in Minsk. Was that meant to be a goodbye?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Steve turns away for a moment, his face pained. Despite it being Tony’s error that caused all of this, Steve doesn’t seem particularly irritated at him. “Why weren’t you angry at me?”

“About what?”

“As far as you knew, I was leaving you in the lurch for someone else. You’ve never had any problem calling me out before. So why not for this? Why not yell at me, call me an asshole?”

Tony swallows the last of his toast. “Don’t know.” When Steve scowls at him, Tony sighs. “You’ve lost a lot, okay. To get something back – that’s a _good_ thing. I wasn’t going to hold it against you for wanting that. And anyway, we weren’t really… me and you, that wasn’t really anything. It was a bigger deal that you trusted me, you know? You trusted me to help you get Barnes back, and to not make a fuss about it. So… yeah. I held onto that.”

Steve seems to need a moment to gather himself. “Sometimes our arguments can be really frustrating, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate knowing your point of view. If anything like this happens again – if I ever _wrong you_ – I’d rather you be angry at me. Let it out, and let me have it.”

Tony looks Steve in the eye. “Well, I disagree that you’d actually ‘wronged’ me. Want to argue about that?”

“How can you not…” Steve shakes his head in exasperation when Tony’s mouth quirks. “C’mon, Tony.”

“I just can’t believe you’re telling me to pick fights with you,” Tony says.

“I can’t believe it, either, but it needed saying.” Steve rubs the back of his neck. “I need to do better, too, I know. I should’ve checked in with you. Do you want to go away for a few days?”

Tony’s thrown by the non sequitur. “What?”

“Just the both of us. We take a break, spend some time together to, uh… to see how it fits. Whatever it is we’re going to make of this, me and you.”

“But Barnes is here.”

“I’ve had a couple of days with him, and he’ll still be here when we get back.” Steve frowns. “At least, he said he’d stay and so far he has, but I suppose it’s possible that he’ll change his mind. Sam’s staying, too – they get along really well, by the by, no matter what Sam might say. He and the others can keep an eye on Bucky.”

Tony immediately feels like a shitheel. Steve just got his best friend back, and now he has to deal with Tony on top of it.

But that’s an intrusive thought, and an inaccurate one to boot. Tony isn’t a project that Steve needs to deal with. Steve isn’t tolerating him for diminishing returns. Steve just said so, and Tony should believe him. He wants to, so badly, but that way lies unchartered territory of dragons and sea serpents and the sharp cliff off the end of the world.

Tony hasn’t fallen for Steve; he’s _still falling_. It’s an on-going process, a tumbling forward that’s kept Tony dizzy and off-balance. If Steve keeps being, well, _Steve_ , then there’s no telling where Tony’s going to end up in the end.

He swallows and takes a breath.

“Okay, a few days,” Tony says. “But I’m not arranging anything. You have to do it.”

“Will do. I’ll look up some places.”

“All right.” Tony half-heartedly gets back to breakfast. His appetite’s fine but the world’s shifted so hard under his feet in the past twelve hours. Waking up with Steve may not be an unusual occurrence anymore, but there’s prickly newness hanging over _this_ particular morning, and it makes Tony feel self-conscious. He feels like he shouldn’t look at Steve (and his stupid pecs) directly, because that would be rude.

“How’s Barnes doing?” Tony says.

“All right, considering the circumstances,” Steve says. “He still thinks it’s a bad idea to stay here. I think he’s mostly doing it to humor me.”

“Yeah, you can really be intense about things like that.” Steve huffs a laugh, and Tony feels emboldened enough to say, “You’ve never talked about him before, not really. Not that you had to, but.”

Steve takes a while to respond. He doesn’t seem to mind the question, but needs a second to compose an answer.

“After coming out of the ice,” Steve says carefully, “I couldn’t wrap my head around having to say goodbye to everything all at once. So I told myself that I’m just here on tour. I had the job in front of me, and having to relearn everything was just getting used to ways of another country. I know, I know – that’s not good, but Tony, those first few months were so…”

“I get it,” Tony says. “Coping mechanism, yeah.”

“Right. So to keep up the illusion I just wouldn’t talk about things from back then much. Especially anything personal, which included Bucky. And even if I did mention it, I kept it light and changed the topic quick. Soon enough it became a habit.”

“Okay, but you have Wilson and Natasha now. Surely you don’t deflect with them.”

“I don’t as much, but it’s a work in progress,” Steve says. Tony feels himself start to sag, but then Steve adds, “It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you anything. But being with you was like this wonderful self-contained bubble where we could just relax and enjoy each other’s company. I didn’t want to ruin it by being a downer.”

“So you’re okay with ruining it now.”

“Not exactly a bubble anymore, is it?” Steve points out.

“No,” Tony says with a sigh. “I just want to say that I’m very much not a model on mental health, so if you’re looking for like, proper support I’d be terrible at it.”

“You’re listening right now, aren’t you?” Steve says. “And you don’t think I should shut up about it, do you?”

“Obviously not—”

“It’s not _obviously_ , Tony. That’s my point.”

“Geez,” Tony says with a disbelieving laugh, “is your bar really that low? Steve, c’mon.”

“It can be as low and as specific as I want it to be, so there.”

“So there? That’s your great argument?” Tony pats Steve’s face without thinking. “Yeah, that’s convincing.”

“It only needs to convince one person,” Steve insists, huffing a laugh of his own. He grabs Tony’s wrist to pull it away from his face, but ends up just holding onto it, fingers curled loosely around Tony’s palm. “Just one person, and that’s enough.”

The skin of Tony’s wrist seems to burn from Steve’s touch, but he can’t pull away. Actually, he doesn’t _want_ to pull away, because Steve’s touch is grounding, and feels good, and Tony is a needy bastard who’s been given explicit permission by Steve to _be_ needy. (Steve may regret that later, but that’s later.) The weight of the past week presses in on Tony, compelling him to inch closer to Steve.

“And that’s enough,” Tony echoes quietly.

“Now you’re getting it.” Steve’s face changes as a broad smile spreads across it, and it’s like watching the sun rise.

Tony cannot look away. “Shit.” Though Steve doesn’t pull at him, his touch alone is enough to draw Tony in, craving closeness and warmth. Tony makes his way across the mattress towards Steve, until he’s close enough to study the individual flecks in Steve’s blue eyes. Or kiss him, if he wanted.

The thought must be visible on Tony’s face, because Steve’s eyes widen. In them Tony sees amazement and hope, as though Steve had not for one second assumed this likely, or even possible. Tony’s as much as poured all his ugly innards out for Steve, proving Tony’s weakness for him, yet Steve didn’t think it inevitable.

Tony leans in, and Steve gasps just before their lips meet.

This isn’t unfamiliar territory, except where it is. Tony knows Steve’s mouth and Steve’s kisses, but he has not until this moment shared kisses with the weight of promises behind them. But not the scary, overwhelming kinds of promises; these are promises to try, and to be open to see what happens. Hyperawareness makes Tony feel self-conscious, as though he has to get right every single second and touch he gives Steve, because otherwise Steve will think he doesn’t mean it.

But that’s not how it works, isn’t it? Not every single second has to be, or even _can_ be, perfect. Whatever happens from here on out will be a mix of awesome and wonderful, but there’ll also be stumbling and wrong turns that they’ll have to untangle. Look what it took for them to get here at all.

So Tony kisses Steve the way he knows how, and Steve kisses him back. It grows heated quickly, because Tony thought that he’d never get to kiss Steve ever again, but there’s a curious dissonance between the blatant hunger and how Steve’s touching him so _carefully_. His fingers cup Tony’s face with wonderment and care, dance along his jaw, and stroke the corner of his mouth, sending tingles that run all over Tony’s body.

“Tony, Tony, wait,” Steve says, mouth moving wetly against Tony’s. “The tray, it’s going to tip over.”

He could make fun of Steve’s worrying about the tray, but it’s a fair concern. Tony flops back onto the bed, which allows him to shuck off his tank top and shorts while Steve puts the breakfast tray on the floor. Steve has barely turned back to him before Tony’s grabbing Steve’s shirt and yanking him down on top of him.

All the suppressed tension from the past couple of days is finally let loose, and rises now to claim its satisfaction.

“Steve, you gotta fuck me,” Tony gasps. He’s managed to push one leg between Steve’s, and rubs his leaking hard-on against the solid press of Steve’s thigh. “Right now. Right now? Just a suggestion.”

“Okay, okay.” Steve reaches out for the side table for supplies. Effectively this means he has to drag Tony bodily along, since Tony’s legs are wound tight around him, but Steve doesn’t hesitate. “You need it fast?”

“There’s just—” Tony licks his lips. He almost shies away when Steve looks at him, but only almost. His heart’s beating so loud. “There’s just so much, and I, uh… You’re with me, right? This is real, right?”

Steve smiles. “Yes, it’s real. This is for you, and no one else.”

“Okay.” Tony nods quickly. “No condom, come on, just get in. Just – just get in.”

“You can spare a minute, Tony.” Steve gets his fingers lubed up and presses them between Tony’s legs. Tony tries to shimmy his hips up but Steve uses his free hand to hold him down, so all Tony can do is breathe and wait out the press of one finger, and then two.

At least it’s not a long wait. Steve can tell he’s ready, though whether from Tony’s face or the give of his body, it’s hard to tell. As it is, Steve wastes very little time before moving between Tony’s legs, with his hands on the backs of Tony’s knees to push him open. A little nudge, and Steve’s darting glance below to check Tony’s opening, and then he’s pushing in.

Bare and hot, Steve presses all the way in a long, smooth glide that only stutters a few times. Tony feels like a big ol’ ho (in the best way) for how he moans for it.

“Geez,” Steve says tightly. He rolls his shoulders, as though loosening them up, and then thrusts shallowly a few times. “Wow, that’s uh… that’s something.”

Tony may be feeling it from the end, but he gets it. There’s the texture of Steve’s cock stretching him open, the movement made easier by lube but still so very _there_. The invasion is followed by the fullness, inexorable and inescapable.

Meanwhile, Steve hovers above him, propped up on his arms. “Hi,” he says.

Tony blinks at him. “You’re balls deep in me, and you’re saying ‘hi’?”

“Why not? Are there rules? Small talk during sex rules?” Steve leans in, and the motion shifts the cock inside Tony, making him gasp. “Should I know about these rules?”

“Oh my god.” Tony grabs at Steve’s shoulders. “You’re supposed to fuck me, not make me laugh.”

“Can I do both?”

“Not at the same time!” Tony barks, though he does laugh with it. Steve grins and sweeps a thumb along Tony’s cheek, as though needing to know what Tony’s smile feels like against his fingertips. Tony swallows and says, “Just – just fuck me, okay.”

Steve braces his knees on the mattress, and does. He moves like a machine warming up, slow and steady, before speeding into a strong rocking motion that has his thighs smacking loudly against Tony’s ass at every shove home. The push and retreat is just the way Tony loves it, unrelenting and so firm that he can only _just_ catch his breath through a near split-second cycle.

“Harder,” Tony wheezes. He grabs at Steve’s back and digs his fingernails in. “Harder, Steve.”

When Steve goes for it, he _goes for it_. He knows where Tony’s prostate is and uses that knowledge to drive Tony right to the edge, lighting his whole body up with each stroke. The pleasure builds and builds until it’s all Tony knows.

At the first touch to Tony’s dick, he seizes up and comes. Steve wrings out his cock with firm pulls, a perfect counterpoint to the slowing thrusts further below.

Tony exhales loudly. He’d apparently been carrying a great deal of tension this past week. It’s not all gone, of course, but he already feels a great deal looser.

Steve’s pulling out of him. Tony starts and looks down. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“You’re not in a rush, are you?” Steve guides Tony’s legs to rest flat on the bed, and massages his thighs as he does so. “Busy day, maybe?”

Tony frowns. “No…?”

“Then indulge me a little.” Steve’s flushed, unsatisfied cock swings heavy between his legs, but he pays it no mind as he rises up to kiss Tony.

Of course Tony kisses him back. He winds his arms over Steve’s shoulders and lets Steve fit himself against Tony’s side, all the better to make out. Making out with Steve is awesome, though usually more awesome pre-orgasms than post, though that’s not a knock against the making out in itself. And since Steve has gone so far as to ask Tony for it then, yes, obviously.

Though this time, the kisses are slow and languid. Tony tries to speed it up for Steve’s sake, and even grabs at Steve’s ass in encouragement, but Steve just keeps an even pace. _Indulging_.

It’s strange, to be the focus of that.

Steve pulls away a little to speak. “I missed you.” He has a hand on Tony’s waist, and is rhythmically squeezing the muscle there for no reason other than because he can.

“Was only gone a week,” Tony says.

Steve grins, and ducks his head to kiss at Tony’s chest. “You probably thought I was being annoying, sending you all those messages.” Tony starts, remembering the missives Steve sent him each day. Steve continues between slow brushes of his lips against Tony’s skin, “Told myself: ‘C’mon, Steve, he’s busy, or he doesn’t want to hear from you right now. And it was the second one. You _didn’t_ want to hear from me.”

“Because I thought…” Tony swallows.

“Because you had no reason to know how much I missed you.” Steve’s kissing the skin across Tony’s chest now, while his hands stroke along Tony’s waist to his hip and back. Tony puts his own hand on the back of Steve’s neck, fingers toying with Steve’s hair. “A mistake, on my part.”

Tony tries to picture it. “How many messages did you put together before deciding on one to send me?”

“A lot. Same goes for the photos. Had to be specific for you, but casual. Can’t come off too desperate.”

“Desperate,” Tony echoes. “You were desperate?”

“Of course. And an idiot, because it had me so wrapped up in myself that I couldn’t see how I was hurting you.”

Tony sighs, exasperated. “No, go back. You were _desperate_?”

“Yes, Tony.” Steve’s moved way down Tony’s body by now, and spends a couple of seconds sucking a kiss against Tony’s hip. “Desperate and deprived of your company. Sam said I should’ve been embarrassed about how I was going on.”

Tony stares at the top of Steve’s head. “Were you?”

“No. Not embarrassed at all.” Steve swipes his fingertips over Tony’s stomach where he’d spilled on himself, clearing more skin for Steve to kiss. “Worried that I’d ruined my chances, yes. Do you mind if I put my fingers back in you?”

“What? Sure, yeah, go for it.” Tony lies there, his whole body tingling over more than just the many, many places of his body that Steve seems intent to taste. The image is solidifying in his head, of Steve scowling at his phone, the way he does when he’s writing reports or reading the news, except this time typing and erasing and editing a text message meant for Tony.

This image only wavers a little when Tony feels Steve’s fingertips nudging at his used opening. Tony hums encouragingly, and then two fingers enter him, slow and careful.

“You were thinking of me,” Tony says.

“Yes, Tony, I was thinking of you.” Steve noses at the thatch of curls at the base Tony’s cock. The fingers inside Tony search for his prostate, but don’t press down. They just stay there, light and suggestive. “I think about you a great deal these days.”

“Oh.” So Tony isn’t alone. He hasn’t _been_ alone in turning himself into knots these past few days, and he isn’t alone now in trying to wrap his head around what he wants. Steve’s here with him.

Steve did say that he’d had a revelation recently, but the implications of that, let alone the full reality of it, hadn’t sunk in for Tony. It’s starting to now, along with the realization that Steve’s serious – about his liking Tony, and wanting to try being a ‘them’.

“We’ll take it easy,” Tony says. He sighs when Steve strokes his tongue along the underside of his shaft, which stirs. “Nice and easy?”

“Nice and easy,” Steve agrees. “No rush.”

“No rush.”

Tony relaxes. Steve’s lapping at his balls now, but there’s no urgency behind it, no press onwards to arousal and completion. If it comes, it comes, but if it doesn’t, that’s all right, because they can enjoy this for what it is. Something stirs deep within Tony, the part that usually quails and snarls at the pressure of the world, and it thinks that maybe this chance is worth taking. Maybe being with Steve will be fine – he knows the life, and he’d rather bleed himself dry first before asking the same of Tony.

“Steve,” Tony says. “Hmm, yeah, that’s nice, Steve.”

The minutes stretch on, empty but at the same time rich with sensation. Tony feels like he’s floating, and is only grounded as far as Steve’s touch keeps him there. Steve’s fingers, a pleasant presence inside him by now, pull out partially so a third can join them. They push back in and Tony clenches around them, Steve’s knuckles pressing against him so well.

Steve makes a soft sound, almost a laugh, as he mouths under Tony’s glans. The rush of air tickles, and Tony realizes that he’s getting hard again. His cock, shiny with Steve’s spit, thickens against Steve’s lips. The burn in Tony’s ass tips over into the wanting ache.

“Shall I come in?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” Tony says breathlessly. “Yeah, that’d be good.”

Steve pulls his fingers out. As he smears a new batch of lube on his erection, Tony shimmies over onto his stomach, wanting warmth against his front and back. Steve gets it.

One of Steve’s thumbs rests at the juncture of Tony’s ass, holding him open. Tony barely tenses up at blunt press against his hole, allowing Steve to just slide right on in. Tony feels wonderfully loose and used, and then snug when Steve settles down on top of him. Steve’s kisses resume on Tony’s back, mouthing words against his spine.

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve whispers, barely audible. “For letting me.”

Tony can’t reply. Even if he could, he wouldn’t know what to say that would make the moment better. The only thing that comes to mind would be to feign confusion over what Steve could possibly be thanking him for, because surely it cannot be something as simple as this. That Steve just wants to be with Tony.

But that really is what Steve wants, and Tony knows it. Warmth fills Tony in a luxurious cascade, and he has to press his face to the sheets in bearing it.

Steve keeps his thrusts shallow, in between grinding against Tony’s ass to stimulate the rim. It works and makes Tony whimper, which just makes Steve do it again and again, and then shifts his angle back to rubbing against his prostate.

“Going to speed up now,” Steve says. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Tony nods.

Steve’s grip on Tony’s waist tightens, and he moves. More shallow thrusts, quick but careful, and each one lighting Tony up from the inside. He can’t say that Steve didn’t warn him, but wow. Tony pants against the sheets as he takes it, getting drool on everything. He only has _just_ enough leverage to rub his by-now fully hard dick against the mattress.

Tony’s going to come again. He can feel it building up, and almost within reach. He has the slightly alarming thought that he may have taught Steve too much and unleashed a monster, though in this case the monster is his to bear the consequences of. Bodily pleasure wars and mingles with the happiness bubbling in Tony’s chest, until they’re almost the same thing. They _can_ be the same thing, right?

An electronic ringing sound makes Tony jolt. He’s so close to coming, but confusion rips him from the brink. “Steve?”

Steve’s arm shoots out and, before Tony can understand what’s happening, grabs the ringing cellphone and flings it at the floor, where it’s smashed into pieces.

“Steve!” Tony yelps.

“JARVIS will tell me if it’s important,” Steve says hoarsely. He hasn’t paused a second in his plowing Tony, and that – that’s _incredible._ “You good, Tony?”

“Yeah, yeah, I… _fuck_ , Steve!” Tony wails as he comes, pleasure coursing through him. Steve helps out by reaching underneath Tony for his dick, and finishes him off with a handful of strong pulls.

It’s messy and wonderful. Steve comes, too, with an almighty groan against the back of Tony’s shoulder. His final body-rattling thrusts reach deep, and Tony squeezes down as much as he can, imagining that he can drain Steve dry.

It’ll be okay. It won’t be simple anymore, if it ever really was, but it’ll be okay.

Steve hums against Tony’s back, and sounds so pleased with himself that’s he’s almost purring. Once sated, he gently pulls out of Tony, and his hands linger on Tony’s back as he goes.

Tony rolls over, inasmuch as his spaghetti-weak limbs allow him, to watch Steve go to the bathroom. Steve’s movements are easy and practiced by now, and he returns with a washcloth that he uses to help clean Tony up.

After that, Steve settles back in bed, partially propped up on a pillow and lying alongside Tony.

“Okay, that was…” Tony thinks he can still feel some Steve’s come leak out of him, and shudders. “That was great.”

Steve nods, very much in agreement. He’s quite the sight, all lazy and fucked out. Though from the way Steve’s looking at Tony, he seems to be thinking the same of him.

Tony’s hands itch with wanting to touch Steve. It was okay to touch Steve before, when they were clear what this was about. But it should be okay to touch Steve now, right? Old habits make him wary, but Tony reminds himself that Steve doesn’t mind. In fact, Steve would be very encouraging about it.

“Do you still pretend that you’re on tour?” Tony asks carefully.

“No.”

“It’s okay if you do sometimes.”

Steve frowns. “No, it isn’t.”

“I’m just saying,” Tony says. “It’s hard to change the way you, uh… the way you think about the world, and yourself, when you’ve been relying on shortcuts for so long. Just speaking from experience. So it’s okay, if you need to. Just maybe, um, when you do, could you come back to me, after? I mean, I don’t—”

Tony’s about to apologize for being pushy, but Steve kisses him, quick and fierce.

When Steve draws back, Tony realizes why. Steve’s eyes are bright with gratitude and guilty anguish, a crack in the strong veneer that Steve keeps so tightly around himself. Tony lifts a hand to Steve’s face, and Steve turns into the touch, eyes fluttering shut as he noses Tony’s palm.

Through the cloud of contentment, a worry tries to gain purchase: that Tony can’t be what Steve apparently needs, i.e. a steady beacon to lead him home. Tony’s feet aren’t planted firmly enough to the ground for that. But the worry fades away at the realization that Steve already knows that about him, and that Tony could offer something else, and _be_ something else to him. He doesn’t know what, but they can figure it out together.

Tony grins. “I am so into you it’s _appalling_.”

“Only appalling?” Steve counters. “Not confusing and unexpected and—”

“God.” Tony rises up with a laugh, and kisses Steve’s smiling mouth. “All of it, Steve. All of it.”

+

It’s a brand new day, or a brand new world, maybe. It’s very late in the morning when they finally leave Tony’s bedroom; Steve to catch up on whatever it is he’d been procrastinating on, and Tony to his workshop to catch up on the week’s backlog.

Closer to lunch, Tony comes down to the common area. Bruce and Thor are there, and Tony spares a few minutes for easy chatter, and is given a loose reminder for team lunch that Bruce’s supposed to be cooking today.

Tony’s attention wanders to the TV area, where Barnes is sitting in the window recess, a book in his hand. He’s switched out fugitive chic for a comfy sweater and sweatpants, and tied his hair back in a ponytail. He looks very much like someone who wouldn’t be out of place at a hipster café, save for the scary metal hand that’s now holding onto a cat-shaped bookmark.

He lifts his head at Tony’s approach. His expression is bland and hard to read. Steve would be able to read it, though, if he were here.

“Any complaints about the hospitality?” Tony says. “The others get you caught up?”

“Yes, it’s fine.” Barnes is not relaxed, exactly, though he’s doing a decent job at seeming at ease. “Thank you. I’ve bought some things on the internet, Steve said that’s okay?”

“Yeah, it’s very okay. You should see Thor’s shopping list, if you haven’t already. Anyway, uh, happy reading.” Tony moves away, then changes his mind and turns back. Bucky puts his book back on his lap and waits.

It’s hard to tell if Steve’s right, and that Tony will one day have a strong, delayed reaction to knowing what he now knows about his parents’ death. To be told about it and to read about it, are both far cries from sharing space with someone who was actually there. But Barnes is at worst, a tool; at best, a witness. And Tony knows a thing or two about the burdens of the past, and _he_ made his own choices, instead of having them forced on him.

The easiest thing, really, is to view Barnes through Steve’s eyes. He can do that.

“Don’t even think about running,” Tony says. “Steve needs you, all right?”

“I’d say the same to you,” Barnes replies.

Tony inhales sharply. He narrows his eyes, but Barnes just shrugs.

An understanding of sorts seems to pass between them. Tony already lives with science gone wrong, mythology gone right, and a pair of spies, so a metal-armed former assassin isn’t a wild addition.

Tony pulls out his phone, intending to send a message to Steve on how Barnes is crimping his style, but there’s already a message from Steve waiting for him.

There’s a photo of the conference table, with the corner of a folder – the light brown kind that SHIELD uses – peeking from the side. It has the caption: “ _Very interesting meeting, wish you were here_.”

Steve isn’t visible in the photo itself, but Tony gets the gist loud and clear. _Thinking of you._

Which: _back at you, Steve._

Tony must be making a really ridiculous face at his phone, because Barnes suddenly says, “Oh geez,” and quickly buries himself in his book. “Yeah, okay. Say hi to Steve for me.”

“Shut up,” Tony says good-naturedly.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I also wrote [short coda over on tumblr](https://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/634907491218718720/hello-i-love-the-codas-youve-written-for-your), plus [here's the fic's main tumblr post.](https://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/634308370952798208/its-all-up-not-a-breakup-33000-words-by)


End file.
